


sliding doors

by ont



Series: mockingbird [10]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ABO with a hundred percent less heats and a hundred percent more gender theory, Adultery, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Big Emotional Journeys, Canon Compliant, Class Issues, Divorce, Domestic, Drug Use, Jealousy, Kid Fic, Long-Term Relationship(s), Love rectangle, M/M, Marriage, Married Life, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Pining, Post-Zayn One Direction, Unplanned Pregnancy, anxiety/depression, band dynamics, identity loss in marriage and parenthood, mild satire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 163,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ont/pseuds/ont
Summary: If Louis had picked Zayn, instead.





	1. Chapter 1

OHIO, AUGUST 15, 2015

The light is very stark in his hotel room. It's a bright, cloudy day. Louis can barely make out Joan’s shadowed face as she bends over him, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

He can tell, though, that her brow is knit and her stern face is drawn. Louis tries to keep his breathing even. He wants to believe everything is alright; he just felt the baby move two or three minutes ago.

But he fainted at sound check. Dropped like he'd been shot, or so he was told by a white-faced Niall when they roused him. Tonight’s concert is pending cancellation.

“Louis,” Joan says finally. It doesn't sound like good news.

Louis fists his hand in the bedspread. “Tell me she's alright.”

“She's alright.” He exhales. “But… Between the urine sample I took, and what I'm seeing now, I'm fairly certain you have pre-eclampsia.”

His heart goes through his shoes.

“That's --”

“I know what it is,” he tells her.

“So you know that this is very serious.”

Louis is angry, then, so angry it seems to fill his entire body like an ever-expanding balloon. He tears his arm out of the cuff and lies down on the bed, his chest rising and falling hard.

“Yeah.”

“I'm sorry, Louis. I'm going to have to strongly recommends you leave the tour and go home. Otherwise, you're putting both your life and the baby’s in grave danger.”

He presses his hand to his face, covering his eyes.

“I know,” he murmurs. He knew as soon as he came to after passing out, he knew something was badly wrong.

“Okay. Do you need anything?”

“Not right now.”

Joan leaves him be, and he curls up on his side. He doesn't even know who to call first.

Someone knocks and he's dreading having to answer, having to explain, and then Liam calls softly to him, and his heart squeezes.

“Come in,” Louis calls.

Liam is light on his feet when he walks in, like he's trying not to disturb someone napping. He climbs into the bed with Louis and wraps himself around him, holding him tight. Louis lets out a sigh.

“Are you okay?” Liam whispers.

“Sort of.”

“What's sort of mean?”

Louis pauses for a while. Liam kneads his knuckles into Louis’ lower back, his breathing stilled as he waits for a response.

“I’ve got a complication,” Louis finally tells him.

Liam pauses. “Is the baby okay?”

“Sort of.”

Liam inhales and Louis rolls over, looking up at him. Liam strokes his face.

“I'm pre-eclamptic,” Louis whispers. “You know what that is, right?”

Liam shakes his head.

“I could have, like -- seizures, and things…”

“God.” Liam looks gutted. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I’m okay for now, but it could get worse if I don’t take care of myself. She told me I could have it, a few weeks ago, ‘cos my blood pressure --” he stops himself. “Payno,” he says, his voice breaking, “I have to go home. I have to leave the tour.”

Liam’s entire face falls.

"Okay,” he says, after a moment, sounding much calmer than he looks. “Whatever you have to do, we’re all behind you, we understand.”

“I could lose the baby... I could die.”

“Lou, Lou,” Liam says in a soothing voice. “Don’t -- enough said, alright? Fly home tomorrow. Go get some rest. You deserve it. You worked so hard. You’ve done such a good job. Most people would never even try to do this.”

Tears start to trail down Louis’ cheeks. “I’ll finish the album with you,” he says thickly. “I can do some promo, and things. I just can’t --”

“Shh, shh,” Liam says, lying back down with him, wrapping him up in his arms. He sounds a bit misty, too. “Shh.”

They both know what this means. Their little bubble is punctured, and nothing will be the same again.

 

LONDON, AUGUST 17, 2015

His plane lands on a sunny day in London. Louis stares out the window a while while they offload his luggage. Normally he'd help, but they wouldn't let him. No one’s let him do anything these past few days. They treat him like he's made of china. One tumble and he'll shatter.

He's staring out across the rolling flat of the tarmac when he sees a figure walking toward the plane. He squints. Who'd be allowed to come out here? And then the figure gets closer, flanked by his own security from about twenty feet back. Dark hair, dark jacket.

Louis gets up and moves toward the stairs. Daniel, who's packing up his laptop and headphones, grabs his arm.

“You good?”

“I'm fine, mate,” Louis says, walking off the plane and into the bright daylight.

Zayn is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, looking gorgeous, looking worried.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Louis says, squinting. He slides his sunglasses down over his eyes and descends the stairs, hands in his pockets.

Zayn gazes up at him. “Why not?”

“Dunno. Someone might see?”

“And then… what?”

“Might make it obvious it's your baby.”

“So?”

Louis is again slapped by the reality that the tour is over. It doesn’t really matter what they do.

He descends, stopping in front of Zayn, who breathes out heavily and sort of shakily, and reaches up to brush Louis’ hair back off his face.

“Hi,” Louis says quietly.

“Hey,” Zayn says, sounding emotional. “Um, I came, ‘cos… I wanted you to know...” He breaks eye contact and looks down. “If you want to give it a go -- I’m here. I want to try and be a family with you.”

Louis’ gut twists. “Zayn,” he breathes.

“You don’t have to answer right away.”

Louis steps into his space. Zayn lightly cups a hand to the swell of his belly. Louis swallows.

“This is hard for me,” he says. “Comin’ home. This --”

“I know...”

Their baby moves in Louis; a jerky, fish-like spasm low in his stomach. Louis stares down at Zayn’s hand.

“Give me some time,” he whispers to him.

Zayn nods hard. “Alright.”

 

DONCASTER, AUGUST 23, 2015

Louis avoids talking with Zayn for as long as he can. He's drowning in paperwork, anyway, in social media finessing and the giant legal and financial oopsie that is the cancellation of the tour.

Harry isn't in touch (not unusual), Niall is extremely worried about him and the band in general, and Liam is civil but very obviously wounded. Talking to him makes Louis feel like his lungs are being crushed by a boa constrictor, so he doesn't.

“Maybe it was a mistake,” Liam mutters, when they're on a phone call about the album. “Sleeping together.”

It kills Louis to hear him say that, but he can't say no, because he can't give him any false hope that there's a future for them. So he just changes the subject.

He can't sleep much, anymore. He goes back home to Doncaster and spends most of his time there -- surrounded by family, not wanting to talk to anyone about what he's going through, but wanting to be around them just the same.

Zayn finally comes to him on a balmy night in late August, around midnight. Louis’ mum lets him into the house; he hears her talking, although Zayn’s voice is inaudible. He lies awake in bed, hearing his feet on the stairs and wondering who's coming up.

Then Zayn knocks at the door with a familiar _rat tat tat tat tat tat -- tat tat_ rhythm that they always used to signal each other at hotel room doors, or on the tour bus. Louis’ heart jumps.

“Louis?” Zayn’s thin voice comes through the door.

“Yeah,” Louis says, sitting up.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Zayn comes inside, treading lightly on the carpet. He's shadowy in the dark, but when he comes closer, moonlight illuminates his face.

“Can I…” He seems unsure.

Louis pulls up the sheet. Cold air from the AC rushes in and makes gooseflesh rise on his legs. Zayn drops his jacket to the floor and then crawls onto the bed, coming close but not too close.

They look at each other. Louis exhales.

“Move in with me,” Zayn says softly. “You can't hole up in your mum’s house forever… let me take care of you…”

“Zayn…”

“Please. Please let me fix this.”

“C’mere,” Louis says. His voice is throaty.

Zayn nuzzles up against him. His hand tentatively goes to the swell of the baby under the soft, stretchy tee Louis wore to bed.

“You can't fix it,” Louis says. He lays his hand over Zayn’s, stroking the back of it.

“But just lemme take care of you,” Zayn whispers against his neck. His hot breath tickles.

Louis closes his eyes. He longs to just give into it, give into the current, let himself be carried away. Zayn's hand feels nice on him. It feels like it belongs there.

“Okay,” he finally says.

“Okay?” Zayn whispers.

Louis, feeling like this is a covenant they've got to seal, asks him, “D’you want to have sex?”

Zayn looks surprised, but nods.

They fumble at each other awkwardly. They haven't had sex since Louis got pregnant, and that itself complicates things. Louis eventually settles him back onto the bed and then gets on top of him, riding him.

Zayn gazes at him in the dark, letting out soft gasps, his eyelids fluttering. “Louis… God.”

“Yeah?” Louis breathes, rolling his hips, trying to get him deep. “I'm God?”

Zayn laughs softly.

He jerks Louis off well enough that he comes all over Zayn’s stomach before Zayn comes inside him. Inside, he's still a little sore from the rough, desperate goodbye sex he and Liam had a week ago. He tries not to think about that at all.

When they're finished and lying sweaty in each other’s arms, Zayn returns his attention to the baby, stroking Louis’ belly. She flutters with movement.

Louis falls fitfully asleep.

 

*

 

They're woken the next morning by the twins bursting into the room.

Louis, laughing, tugs a blanket over them with lightning speed; Zayn looks up drowsily, a cross swinging around his neck, flashing on his bare chest.

Dan comes in quickly to retrieve the kids. “Sorry, sorry,” he says with a grin, and hustles them back out.

Zayn lies back down, swiping at his nose with his thumb and yawning. “Shit,” he says. “Sorry I'm like, in your bed in your family’s house.”

“‘S’alright.” He cups his stomach. “Think the cat’s out of the bag on that.”

Zayn laughs and sits up.

“I’m a grown adult, anyway," says Louis.

“Come home with me. Today. Let’s just, like… when've we ever gotten real alone time together? Like no time limit on it or anything. No security knocking on the door that we've got five minutes to get dressed and go to sound check.”

“Can't remember.”

“‘Cos it's never happened.”

Louis, craving closeness and attention, snuggles up against him. Zayn gently strokes his hair off his temples.

“Yeah, I'll move in with you,” Louis mutters.

“Really?”

“I’m gonna need someone to take care of me.”

“I can do that.”

“Can you? You're working on a record.”

“I'll take care of you, Louis.”

Louis wants so badly to believe him.

“It's a high-risk pregnancy, is all,” he says quietly.

“I know, I know why you came home.”

“Right.”

“I know this wasn't your ideal situation,” Zayn says, sounding somewhat bitter.

Louis inhales. “It is what it is, mate.”

“I'll take care of you. I've wanted to take care of you.”

“I have to rest a lot, y’know. You can’t stress me out.”

“What would I do to stress you out?”

“Stay out late,” Louis murmurs. “Fight with me. We always fight.”

“We always make up.”

“We can’t fight. You can’t do anything that raises my blood pressure.”

“I won’t stress you out.” Zayn strokes his cheek. “I won’t.”

 

SEPTEMBER 1, 2015

_A rep for boybander Louis Tomlinson quietly confirmed today in a statement that he's expecting his first child with former One Direction bandmate, Zayn Malik._

_This confirmation comes after weeks of speculation since Tomlinson dropped out of 1D’s On The Road Again tour, citing the diagnosis of a high-risk pregnancy that will require rest and constant monitoring. All remaining tour dates were cancelled after the loss of two members proved too much for the band to overcome._

_Since returning to England, Tomlinson and Malik have been spotted out and about together several times, looking loved-up despite a blistering Twitter fight in May and rumors of a falling out between them._

Louis and Zayn are both thrilled to become parents, _the rep said in an email._ They continue to request privacy at this time. Louis and the baby are doing well under the careful watch of a doctor.

_Due to his health, Tomlinson has so far avoided participating in promo for the band’s fifth album, although the other members have been crisscrossing the globe to drum up support for the record after Malik’s departure from the band in April, Tomlinson’s unexpected pregnancy, and their abruptly ended tour -- a series of events that left fans confused and concerned._

_The band will go on an indefinite hiatus beginning in the new year._

 

 

LONDON, SEPTEMBER 15, 2015

Louis has several awkward conversations with his mum where they don’t address the elephant in the room -- his situation, this most awkward of hand-me-downs. She asks him exactly one time, very seriously, “Is this _really_ what you want, love?” and he assures her, “Yeah, yeah, I want to make it work, I’m happy doing that.” What he means is that he’ll try to be happy. He’ll try very hard.

And then he leaves his family, waving goodbye to them, and gets in the car with Zayn to go be a family with him.

 

*

 

They tiptoe very tenderly around each other, only sleeping in the same bed half of the time, both keeping odd hours. Louis doesn’t know how to feel; sometimes he looks over at Zayn, bent over his cereal or something, so absurdly handsome -- his lavender fringe flopping as he ducks his head, bus 1 tattoo faint but clear on his hand -- and his heart squeezes hot in his chest. And sometimes he’s lying awake next to Zayn, heartburn raging in his throat, their baby kicking him, and he feels hatefully angry and trapped like an animal. _Bitchy comments, bitchy comments._ He’ll pull a robe on because none of his jumpers fit right anymore, and go watch TV in another room somewhere, not even listening to whatever he’s watching.

He thinks about the baby constantly, wondering what he’s dragging her into, what his relationship with Zayn is going to look like when she’s one, two, six, fifteen. He has no idea. Maybe they’ll fall in love, get married, have more babies. Maybe they’ll collaborate again, even. Louis can manage him, write for him.

Maybe someday Liam’s devastated face will fade from his mind’s eye.

He mostly consults on the album with Liam over texts and emails. He can’t bear to hear his voice or see his face. Louis hopes he understands that; he senses that he does, maybe too deeply, if anything.

 

*

 

On a warm day in mid-September, Louis is supervising a gang of builders that are tearing apart one of Zayn’s guest bedrooms to make a nursery. He’s been spending long hours lately sitting in an armchair, watching them carrying things in and out, sawing, sanding, hammering. 

One of them is particularly handsome. Zayn’s gone quite a lot, and Louis is hornier than usual from the hormones, so he likes to watch this bloke -- David -- his nice arms straining, the concentration on his face and the set of his jaw.

He sometimes works himself up over David and then excuse himself to go wank in the shower or wherever. He feels sort of guilty about it, but Zayn’s only fucked him once since he’s moved in, and it didn’t feel quite right. It didn’t feel how they used to feel together. He actually got sort of upset by that.

Everyone keeps telling him he needs to give it time. His mum, his friends, everyone. He supposes that’s fair. After all, now all he has on his hands is time. Time while he waits for the album, then time while he waits for the baby.

David looks up from sawing. “Oi,” he says to a distracted Louis. “We’re about to paint, so...” He nods at Louis’ middle.

“Thanks,” Louis says, feeling sort of put out at this piercing of his fantasy. David, of course, probably isn't even remotely attracted to him. Who would want to fuck some random rich bloke they work for, who's six months pregnant by someone else? He gets to his feet and wanders out of the room, then downstairs, where he scrolls through his phone -- nothing needs answering urgently.

He nests in a bunch of pillows on the sofa in the sitting room, and that’s where he stays until Zayn gets home half an hour later. Louis hears him before he sees him, talking in the entryway to his PA, Syena.

“Zayn,” he calls, feeling lonely.

He hears him say “one minute, one minute,” and then pops into the room, looking smiley. He gets onto the couch next to Louis and wraps his arms around him, kissing and nuzzling him, his warm breath against his neck.

Louis smells alcohol on him. “You been drinking, mate?”

“Just a bit, just a bit,” Zayn breathes, kissing him messily, nicking his lip with his teeth. He seems sort of frenzied and manic.

“In the middle of the day?”

“We went to a pub, yeah, after we left the studio. How are you? How’s your day been?”

“Fine,” Louis says. “Boring. Haven’t seen much of you.”

“Been working a lot, writing all day,” Zayn says, stroking his hair off his face. “How’s our baby?”

“Seems to be alright.”

Zayn leans down and kisses the round curve of his belly through his thin white tee. Louis strokes and ruffles Zayn’s hair, gazing down at him, wondering what he’s thinking.

“How's your record going?” Zayn murmurs.

Louis tenses. “Alright.”

Zayn moves further up on the couch, tossing a few pillows aside so he can lie comfortably next to Louis, one hand cupped to the baby. “That's good.”

“Yeah.” Louis strokes the side of Zayn’s face. “How’s yours?”

“Good,” Zayn says, nodding. “Really good.”

Louis struggles to say _good, I’m happy for you_. It just doesn’t come out. They lie there petting each other some more.

 

LONDON, OCTOBER 6, 2015

Louis waits for Niall in the dark of the recording studio. He's fifteen minutes late. They two of them have got to redo a harmony part in Temporary Fix; essentially, after that, the album will be finished.

In the wake of this, Liam seems to be grasping for non-musical excuses to talk to him. Louis, meanwhile, is miserably trying to keep him at a very specific distance so he can maintain their friendship without getting close enough to respark the kind of intimacy he should only be having with Zayn.

Niall shows up apologetic, looking tired. He hugs Louis for a long time. They haven't seen each other in person since he left the tour.

“You alright?” he says, sort of hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Louis assures him. “I'm good, lad.”

“He treating you good?”

Louis takes him by the shoulders and squeezes him. “Zayn? We’re great.”

Niall's light eyes rove over his face, looking for chinks in his armor.

“I swear,” Louis says, a bit testily.

“How's the baby?” Niall glances down; Louis knew he'd get papped walking into the studio, so he's dressed way down in a baggy Adidas hoodie and sweats. He's much too far along for that to really hide anything, but it makes him feel better.

“She's fine. How's Harry?”

Niall winces. “You don't want to hear about Harry.”

Louis turns from him and sits down on the stool in front of his mic. “I don't?” he repeats sadly.

“Mate, it's all…” Niall, looking mournful, scratches the back of his head. “You know how things are. Let’s not get into it.”

“Don’t coddle me,” he begs.

“You're pregnant and sick. How’m I not going to try and be gentle with you?”

“I'm not sick…”

“What d’you call it, then?”

Heat rushes to Louis’ eyes.

“Oh, no,” Niall says, sounding terrorized. “Wait, c’mere. C’mere.”

Louis goes to him and is wrapped up in a bear hug.

“We’re all just worried about you,” Niall whispers to him.

“Who's we?”

“Everyone.”

“Just let me do this,” Louis says softly. “Just let me try to make this work. Please.”

Niall lets him go, looking sad. Louis sniffs, blinking his tears back, and smooths his hands over his middle.

“Christ, look at you,” Niall says fondly. “When’s this kid due, again?”

Louis shrugs. “Middle of January.”

“You got names for her?”

“I’ve been writing some down. Got any suggestions?”

“Oh, loads. Colleen. Eileen. Mary…”

Louis laughs.

 

LONDON, OCTOBER 11, 2015

“You seem healthier,” Joan comments. “Less peaky, better blood oxygen… gaining weight better than you were before.”

Louis lets his head loll back against the chair as she readies an IV for his arm. “Good, good.”

Zayn stands beside him, sort of fidgety, his face shadowed in the bright light streaming through the curtains.

Louis reaches up and takes his hand. Zayn laces their fingers, then brings them to his mouth and brushes his soft lips against Louis’ knuckles.

A part of him that he’s been trying to crush down since April, the part of him that badly fancies Zayn, stirs in his chest.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, gazing at him.

“Hey,” Zayn says back. His dark eyes are sleepy. Louis felt him up late tossing and turning, last night.

“Ultrasound?” Joan says. “You don't need one, mind. But we can do one.”

“I like to see ‘er,” Zayn mumbles. “If Louis’ alright with it.”

“Yeah, go on,” Louis says, tugging his shirt up. He reaches out for Zayn and slips his fingers under the soft hem of his tee, pulling him closer. Zayn wraps an arm around him, pressing his lips to Louis’ head.

She smears the cold stuff on him and presses the wand to him. The doppler appears, white shapes on soft staticky gray. Louis’ eyes rove over her, checking: hands, legs, nose, mouth.

“Look good?” he says.

Joan nods. “She looks fantastic.”

Louis glances up at Zayn, who’s staring at the screen with light dancing in his dark eyes.

“What d’you see, baby daddy?” he says.

He smiles. “See a cute little nose...”

He taps his finger against Louis’ own nose. Louis’ heart clutches like a fist, and he gets a lump in his throat.

 

*

 

He goes for a lie-down after they get home, and Zayn leaves him alone at first. Louis can hear him puttering around downstairs. But then he's coming up, and knocking on the open door of the darkened room where Louis is lying on his side on the bed.

“Come in,” he murmurs, rolling onto his back.

Zayn comes over and crawls onto the bed, hands and knees; he gets to Louis and bends down, kissing the warm globe of his belly.

Louis tips his head back and stares up at the ceiling, trying to quiet his brain and just let Zayn touch him.

“Wanna have sex?” Zayn finally says.

Louis gazes at him and nods, stroking his hair.

He gets on his hands and knees on the bed, then lowers himself to his elbows like he's doing yoga. He hears Zayn breathing hard behind him as he jerks himself to an erection.

“You want me?” Zayn says throatily.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis purrs, rolling his hips. He doesn't feel particularly sexy today, and his throat’s burning with acid reflux, but luckily he doesn't always need to feel sexy to have sex. It's like a second gear he can shift into, sometimes.

When Zayn starts thrusting into him he goes too hard, almost possessively, aggressively. Louis murmurs for him to slow down and he does, easing in and out of the hot clutch of Louis, the nice slide of his cock rubbing against his prostate and making tingly arousal build steadily in his pelvis. Blood rushes to his own cock.

Zayn fucks him for a few minutes and then comes inside him. No condom, who cares, doesn't matter anymore.

Louis has him slip his fingers back in and he jerks off like that, lazily, gazing at beautiful Zayn lying across the bed, a muscle twitching in his forearm as he strokes the inside of Louis. When he's finished, they lie face to face curled up against each other like otters -- Louis with his face buried in Zayn’s neck, Zayn stroking his belly.

 

LONDON, NOVEMBER 1, 2015

Louis is squinting into the sun, staring out the glass walls overlooking the Thames, when his sister’s voice breaks into his thoughts.

“Would you split oysters with me?” Lottie says to Zayn, looking at him over her menu.

“Umm,” he says, stroking his beard. “They cooked, like?”

“No, on the half-shell.”

“Maybe. I was looking at this crab thing.” Zayn picks up his phone and glances absent-mindedly between it and the menu. “What are you lookin’ at, Tommo?”

“Steak,” he says. “Big bloody steak.”

“Not seafood?”

“Can’t have shellfish.”

“Oh, right.”

The waiter comes by and refills Louis’ water with excruciating slowness. He watches the water trickle over the ice cubes and realizes he’s got to piss again.

In the toilet he sees a writer bloke he knows, Steve March. When they’re at the sinks together he says, “Hey Steve.”

Steve does a double take at him. “Oh, hey Tommo,” he says, and they shake hands damply. “Didn't notice you there, sorry, haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Yeah, reckon I was a bit thinner then.”

He laughs genially. “When’s this kid due?”

“Round January, sometime.”

“Well, congrats.”

Louis nods. “Thanks, thank you.”

Steve’s face changes. “And, you know, sorry about the tour.”

Louis tries not to visibly tense. He looks up at Steve’s impassive face, lit badly in the white fluorescents, and focuses on the chicken pox scar on his nose.

“Thanks,” he says again, less happily.

“I mean, look,” Steve says, shaking his head. “Everyone expected it. Soon as it came out you were pregnant -- us in the industry, we all knew it was over. Nobody thought you’d stick it out. Would’ve been crazy to --”

“Hey, um, you talk to Liam lately?”

Steve nods. “Sure. Why, haven’t you?”

“No, we talk. I mean, the album’s dropping fairly soon.”

“Right, yeah.” Steve eyes him. “Can I be honest?”

Louis smiles nervously at him, showing his teeth. “Sure, mate.”

Steve lowers his voice and delivers this next bit with a self-indulgent tone, like he's reveling in the dysfunction of One Direction. “I think he’s a bit hung up on you. I mean, he didn’t, like, come right out and say anything ever happened between you --”

“Nothing did happen between us,” Louis interrupts him, panicky.

Steve looks him up and down; he suddenly feels very round, visible, marked, weighed down with his sins and everyone else’s. “Yeah, alright.”

“I’ll see you,” Louis says to him, and heads out of the toilet, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Back at the table, Zayn and Lottie are chatting, unconcerned. Louis sits down and Zayn reaches over to casually rest his arm on the back of his chair. Louis flinches guiltily from his touch.

“What’s up?” Zayn says.

He just shakes his head.

He can’t tell Zayn what happened with Liam, it’ll wreck him. Louis thinks he can barely talk about it himself without breaking down, anyway. So he sits there, full of deeply unpleasant emotions, being kicked by the baby.

 

LONDON, NOVEMBER 5, 2015

Liam rings Louis while he's watching Bojack Horseman with Zayn, and Louis rolls out from under his arm, grabbing his phone like he's being caught at something.

“It's Payno. I'm gonna, um,” he says, and gets to his feet after a few false starts. Zayn watches him with mild curiosity. “It's just it's gonna be about the listening party,” he adds lamely. “Dunno if you want to listen to band business.”

Zayn nods as if to agree that he doesn't, and settles back on the couch.

Once he's down the hall, Louis raises the phone to his ear and quietly says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Liam says.

There's a beat of silence.

“So... how was it?”

“Great,” Liam says, sounding cheerful. “Really, you know -- the fans loved everything, so.”

“Yeah? Fantastic, good…” He gnaws at his lip. “Was it weird without me?”

“‘Course it's weird, but everyone understands. You've got to stay healthy, you can't be jetting off to the states. We all get it.”

“Maybe, um…” Louis hesitates. “I could come to the Brits?”

“Oh, Tommo, like a month after the baby comes? Don't worry about it --”

“I want to do it, though. I do.”

Liam inhales. “I’d love that, but let’s take it one day at a time, maybe.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Louis retreats deeper into the house, into Zayn’s painting room. He stares at the web of graffiti on the walls. “I miss you.”

“Louis,” Liam says, in achey warning.

“It's the truth.”

“I miss you too.”

“God,” Louis mutters, pressing a hand to his aching lower back.

“How are you lot doing?”

“Fine. Fine.”

“Okay,” Liam says. “Good. Look, you should really -- you should let Zayn in more.”

“I have,” Louis says, nettled. “I do.”

“You're holding onto being angry with him.”

“What, you two still talk about me?” He looks around before he continues, making sure he's alone. “He has no idea you fucked me, you know.”

Liam is silent.

“It wasn't just _fucking_ ,” he says miserably.

“Wasn't for me either, Payno.”

“Well, good. Glad I'm not alone.”

“Course you're not alone, but what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing! You're doing the right thing! You are! I'm glad you are! I just feel like it's disrespecting both of us to say it was just fucking, is all."

Louis sighs, and there's a few beats of silence.

“He has real feelings for you,” Liam continues, with difficulty.

“I do for him, too, alright! He's -- of course there's a reason I fell for him to begin with, and he's the father of my baby, of course I've got feelings for him.” Louis’ mouth is dry. This room is so empty and silent, the walls so impregnated with Zayn’s thoughts and feelings translated into incomprehensible symbols and designs. He feels like they're steadily closing in on him. “It's just I -- you and me -- you were my partner --”

“Louis,” Liam says, like he's swearing. “You’re making this really fucking hard for me, I just want you to know that.”

“It's hard for me too,” he mumbles, starting to tear up. He nestles the phone in the crook of his shoulder and sits, smoothing his hands over his middle, reminding himself that Zayn is here, right here, a room away, that it's Zayn's baby in him, that Liam is a continent away and forbidden. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know.”

“Maybe just let me go,” Liam says, his voice hoarse.

“Off the phone, or…”

“Whatever way you want to take it,” he says. “Bye, Louis.”

“Bye, Liam,” he whispers back, and hangs up.

Zayn finds him in there, still sitting on the floor, crying.

“Hey,” he says, wiping at his tears.

Zayn looks concerned, sitting next to him. “What's up?”

“Um,” he says, and fumbles for cover. “Harry's still not speaking to me.”

That much is true. Neither is Perrie. He's no longer their ally in the Zayn exes club -- now he's the traitor, pregnant and on Zayn's arm, living in his house.

Zayn shrugs. “Ain't your fault.”

“Band’s in tatters,” Louis says, his voice cracking. “And I can't go reassure the fans. I can't go anywhere or do anything nice for anybody, or do me job, or anything. I'm trapped.”

“It's okay to take time for yourself,” Zayn says, sounding annoyed. “I mean, our daughter’s life is at stake, here.”

“I know, I know, I’d never put her in danger, I know.”

“Your life, too.”

“I'm fine.”

Zayn eyes him. “Are you?”

“I'd be better if you were home more,” he snaps, without meaning to.

Zayn sighs, pulling his knees to his chest. “I'm workin’ on a record --”

“I do know that.”

Louis extends a hand to him. Zayn stands, and helps him to his feet.

 

LONDON, NOVEMBER 9, 2015

“He's fine,” Oli says, after Louis checks his phone for the forty-fifth time. It's past one in the morning, now. “This is the second time he's done this, mate, he's fine.”

Louis shifts on the leather couch; he can never get comfortable on Zayn’s furniture. “If he's fine, he's ignoring me, which is worse.”

“It's worse than him being _dead_?”

“Alright, maybe not.”

They sit there in the blue dark as Oli flips through Netflix, looking for something neither of them has seen. The baby is rolling in him, moving around.

He has a funny idea that Zayn is fine because if something happened to him, he'd know it in his gut. He thinks that's true of any of the boys, even Harry, but especially Zayn. He'd just know.

Louis’ phone buzzes, telling him someone's just gone through the front gate. He sags in relief.

It takes a minute before the front door opens. Oli helps Louis up and they go see.

Zayn's in the badly-lit and opulent kitchen, pouring water from the SubZero fridge, red-eyed and messy-haired. Water’s going down the side of the glass; he doesn't seem to notice.

“Where've you been?” Louis says, his worry seamlessly fading into anger. “I called you, I texted.”

“Phone died, sorry,” Zayn mutters. “Came home early once I noticed.”

“What if I was in labor or summat? What if I had a seizure?”

Zayn sets his glass down hard on the marble. “I came home _as soon as I noticed_.”

“I'm gonna go,” Oli whispers, patting Louis on the shoulder. “Text me.”

Louis nods to him and mouths _thanks_ , then turns back to Zayn. “Why didn't you use one of your work mobiles?”

“I've only got your number in me personal, anymore. An’ I couldn't remember it.”

Zayn's drunk, he can tell now. Louis stands there with ice running through his veins.

“Fine,” he says, finally. “I'm going to bed.”

“I'll join you.”

He wants to snap, _don't_ , but he doesn't have the energy and he doesn't want a fight. So they go upstairs and lie feet apart in the Egyptian cotton sheets, both breathing as quietly as possible.

 

LONDON, NOVEMBER 13, 2015

Zayn promised him this morning that when he got back from the studio they’d have some alone time, that he'd rub Louis’ back, all that, but he comes home with blokes, friends of his Louis doesn't know, and they hole up in the den.

Louis eventually comes downstairs and leans on the doorway, giving Zayn a look; Zayn glances up after a few beats.

“Hey, love,” he says.

“Hello,” Louis says mildly.

“Wanna come sit and join us?”

The room reeks of weed; it's bouncing off the wood walls and hanging in the air. Normally Louis loves that smell, because it means something fun is going on, but he's pregnant and it makes him want to vomit.

But he goes and sits down, because he doesn't want to be the ball and chain, and Zayn’s been trying. He doesn't go out and party as much, although he drinks during the day sometimes, which is sort of scary in itself.

“This is Josh, Oggs, an’ Billy,” Zayn says, indicating them in order.

They all sort of grunt in recognition. These aren't the sort of guys who would hang out with an omega of their own volition, unless they wanted to fuck him.

Louis supplements the conversation well, though, and they warm to him once they realize how much he knows about sports.

He finally gets Zayn alone when Zayn goes to refill his drink in the bar alcove by the stairwell.

“Can we talk?” he says.

Zayn dumps ice into his glass. “What about?”

“About what's gonna change with us when I have the baby.”

Zayn’s face shifts in the dark. “Like what? What needs to change?”

“Zayn,” Louis says incredulously. “You need to be home more.”

“I'm home all the time, Louis.”

“No. You really aren't.”

“Look, when the record’s done it'll be a lot calmer. I'm not doing that much promo. I'm not tourin’ it.” He stirs his drink. “Alright?”

Louis doesn't answer, so Zayn kisses him on the forehead. “Alright?”

“You wanted me here,” he points out coldly. “In your house. So you could take care of me.”

“I do want you here,” Zayn snaps. “If anythin’, I don't think you want to _be_ here, yeah?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You’re only here ‘cos I got you pregnant, and ‘cos you got forced to leave the tour,” Zayn says, his eyes lit up with anger, hurt creeping into his uneven voice. “We both know that. You don't _love_ me.”

“I'm trying to make this work! Don't -- this ain't all on me!”

“I'm doing everything I can!” Zayn explodes. “I'm nothin’ but nice to you!”

“What, like I fuckin’ deserve otherwise, or something? I'm pregnant with your kid! You _should_ be nice to me!”

“Why?” Zayn roars. “You don't want me to touch you. You don't want me to fuck you. You don't kiss me. You barely look at me. You lie awake next to me cryin’ and think I don't notice. What kind of relationship is this?”

“I _do_ want you to touch me,” Louis cries. “We have sex, don’t we?”

“Your mum told me to give you time,” Zayn says, and downs his drink in one go, then wipes his lip. “So I'm givin’ you time. But I can't do this forever. I've got needs, too.”

“What, you threatening me?” he demands. “Gonna leave me if I don’t fuck you more?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Zayn yells, slamming the glass down on the bar, and strides up the stairs. Louis follows him, slowly.

Zayn rounds on him once they're both upstairs in the hallway. “D’you seriously think I'm not invested in making this work?”

“I don't know,” Louis shouts at him, his face hot with anger. “I think you take it for granted that I'm even here! I'm like a fuckin’ lamp or Xbox or something that you just use when you feel like it, when you can be bothered to be home! It's a fuckin’ baby! It's gonna upend our lives!”

He inhales, his head spinning. Zayn looks at him with concern on his face and takes him by the hand, leading him to the bedroom they normally sleep in.

Zayn eases him down onto the California king mattress, onto his rumpled black comforter. “Lie on your side,” he murmurs.

Louis does. The baby jabs him hard with a foot.

“I told you not to stress me out,” he mutters.

Zayn sits behind him, thigh pressed to the length of his back, running his fingers through Louis’ hair. “Maybe that's part of the problem. We've been tiptoeing around each other so you don't get sick.”

“Fits,” he mutters. “Not sick.”

“Huh?”

“Full-blown eclampsia... It's seizures, fitting.”

“Right.”

“Your friends are probably wondering about you, downstairs.” Louis says, letting his eyes close. Zayn's touch feels nice.

“Fuck ‘em.”

He laughs, and then takes a deep breath.

“What’re you so afraid of, mate?” Zayn mutters. “What d’you think it is I'm out doin’ at night?”

“Fucking other people.”

“Oh, Louis… that ain't it, alright? I'm just blowing off steam. It's fucking tense around here.”

“I don't mean for it to be.”

“Then loosen up around me!”

Louis inhales. “You ever do cheat on me, I'm gone. You know that, right?”

Zayn goes silent.

“If you cheated on _me,_ I'd try to figure out a way to forgive you,” he finally says, sounding bitter, “but whatever.”

“I’m not a cheater. I've never cheated on anybody.”

“Cheated _with_ me.”

“That's different.”

“The answer, when somebody says they refuse to be cheated on, is to say you won't cheat on them,” Louis says hotly. “Not try to make it a logic puzzle.”

“I won't cheat on you. I won't.”

“You cheat on me, you're not just cheating on me. You're cheating on your daughter’s father. You're cheating our kid out of us having a functional relationship and being together.”

Zayn's quiet again, then says, hopefully, “You think we can have a functional relationship?”

“I'm trying for it, mate.” Louis is suddenly bone-tired. “I really am.”

“An’ I'm trying to do the right thing… so _let_ me."

Louis nods, not even sure what he's nodding at.

“Can I lie on you?” he says. His voice is reedy. “Like you sit up, and…”

“Like I'm a chair?” Zayn laughs. “Yeah, alright…”

He sits up and scoots back against the pillows. Louis collapses backwards into his arms, lying comfortably against his chest. Zayn rests his chin on Louis’ head.

“Lemme know if I'm crushing you,” Louis murmurs.

“You're not.”

“I could be.”

Zayn strokes his hair, sweeping it back off his face. “Hey... you know I'm still attracted to you, right?”

Louis, who has a hard time believing this, feels a warm little stir in his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, mate…” He sounds shy about it.

Louis brings Zayn’s tattooed hand to his mouth and kisses it. Zayn kisses his head and moves his hands low, running his fingers over the baby. She always moves when Zayn touches him.

“We haven't talked about names,” Louis murmurs.

“Haven't talked about much of anything, have we?”

He nods. “Sorry.”

Zayn sighs. “‘S’alright.”

“I've just been so focused on not being mad at you. On not feeling any real feelings at all, honestly. Just sort of living in this limbo.”

“I mean, I want you and the baby to be safe, I don't want you to start havin’ seizures, but I don't want you to bottle shit up and resent me later.”

“I wish you'd quit partying,” Louis admits. “I don't want to be sitting up on the couch waiting for you and you come home stumblin’ drunk. That's happened a few times now.”

“Look --”

“Once mid-December comes, I can really go any minute. Baby could come whenever.”

“Hey --”

“Don't think you've got to snap back at me, just think about it, alright? Think about what I'm saying.”

Zayn heaves a sigh, shifting under Louis. “Yeah, fine…”

Louis gnaws at his lip. “I know you've got to be hanging out with certain people, doing certain things, for PR reasons. I know what you wanted this album to be, and your entire image to be after you left the band. But it doesn't exactly fit with you becoming a dad. It doesn't fit with us giving it a go and you having a pregnant boyfriend at home. So.”

“So,” Zayn mutters. “I can try harder to be what you need, like.”

“That's all I'm asking.”

“Okay.” He inhales. “Okay.”

 

DONCASTER, DECEMBER 24, 2015

It's alright until Christmas Eve.

They have a really nice December. Zayn’s home more; he puts off work on the album as much as he can. Louis tries to heal; he's barely ever on Twitter, he ignores voicemails about band stuff. He and Zayn go on long walks around the gated neighborhood, playing with dogs they meet along the way, talking about maybe getting a dog for the baby, a puppy, and raising the two together. Louis tries to enjoy being funemployed, having wide-open days where he can hang out with his family, people he's been missing, and just take a fucking rest for once.

And he lets himself notice the twinkle that appears in Zayn’s eye when he looks at him. He lets himself remember why he started up with Zayn in the first place; their dumb stoner jokes, the easy way they read each other's minds, their shared stubbornness and walled-up tenderness. They start working on the nursery as a team, and he watches Zayn’s hands flick paintbrushes over the walls, making abstract clouds and planets and whatever else strikes his fancy.

He lets Zayn touch him with those same hands, all over. He starts seeking his touch. He comes to him when the baby kicks or rolls, bringing Zayn's tattooed hands to the swell of his belly, and a grin always cracks Zayn's face when he feels her.

They buy her an entire wardrobe of clothes together, more toys than she'll ever need, ridiculous piles of supplies on top of the gifts they're getting from everyone else. They write her letters that she can read someday, sticking them in a glass jar they keep in her nursery. The jar fills up fast. They play music for Louis’ belly and compose little lullabies for her.

On Louis’ birthday, Zayn wakes him by kissing him and brings him breakfast. He didn't make it, his cook did, but that's fine. It's hard to make a good meal for Louis these days, since he can't have any salt; Zayn's a pretty decent cook, but you sort of have to be a Michelin-star chef to put together a decent fry-up in lieu of salt. So Louis doesn't mind.

They're very lovey when they get to Louis’ family’s house. Zayn dotes on him, keeps telling him happy birthday, keeps making sure he has enough pillows.

It's nice, it's Christmassy, them all sitting around the hearth and joking, Zayn tentatively like one of the family -- if not quite slotting into that role yet, being willing to play the part. And Louis lets himself have more of those wistful fantasies of his, as he gazes over at Zayn.

He’s talking with Lottie and laughing, his dark eyes crinkly, dark hair loose and mussed, his hand resting on Louis’ shoulder and Louis’ own hand resting on the baby.

Louis imagines years with him, years with their kid, being a couple, being parents. The tear between them mended until they can't see the seam anymore. He can feel hormones surging powerfully in him at the thought of this.

“You two are so sweet, lately,” Lottie tells him when Zayn gets up to wee, and he knows that she can sense how badly he needs this to work.

 

*

 

It all goes to hell when Liam calls.

Louis apprehensively takes it upstairs. If it were the nineties again and he was on a landline, it'd be one of those calls where he played with the cord and wound it so tight around his finger that it cut off circulation.

“Hey there,” Liam says softly.

“Hi,” Louis says back, lowering himself gingerly onto his bed.

He left the door cracked; he stares at the thin sliver of light that spills onto the carpet as he listens to Liam breathe.

“Happy Christmas,” Louis finally ventures.

“Yeah, you too. ‘S’why I called… happy birthday, happy Christmas.”

“Right… thanks, mate.”

“How are you? How's the baby?”

Louis almost can't bear to hear the tender concern in his voice. He closes his eyes. “I'm alright, she's alright…”

“Good, good. Joan's happy?”

“Joan's happy.”

“Cool.”

“How's your family, how's Christmas?”

“Good, yeah, good. Very, um…” He trails off. “Christmassy.”

Louis runs his hand over his thigh. “I know this ain't easy for either of us,” he mutters. “Maybe we ought to keep our conversations short.”

“Please, not tonight. I miss you,” Liam says throatily.

“Don't,” Louis hisses, his chest hot with grief. “Don't, do _not_. You were the one who said we can’t talk like this.”

“I'm sorry, I know, I'm sorry!” He sounds stricken. “It's just I think about you, like, constantly --

“Stop thinking about me,” he begs. “Stop. Please. It was a mistake, it was.”

“I know, I want what's best for you --”

“Then don't say this shit to me --”

Liam drags in a breath. “Are you happy? I just wanna know. Just tell me you are so I can know that.”

“I’m happy! I’m trying to be!”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

“You think I'm like great and dandy over how it ended with us? I'm trying to move on!”

“I’m trying too,” Liam says, miserably.

Louis closes his eyes. “You can't do this to me, Liam. _You_ said we should let it go, and I agree.”

“Look, I'm sorry. I’m really…” Liam inhales. “I’m sorry. I had a lot to drink. I shouldn't’ve called. I really did just want to say happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Louis says softly.

“Your gift’s in the mail. Something for the baby, too.”

“You didn't have to do that.”

“I'll talk to you later,” Liam says, and then there's the click of a hangup.

Louis eases up off the bed and goes out in the hall, where he runs into a stone-faced, dark-eyed Zayn.

His heart drops into his shoes. Zayn stands there in the shadows, impassive, his jaw tight.

“What’d you hear?” he says.

Zayn snorts. “Everythin.’”

Louis’ blood chills. “Look --”

“When?” he spits.

He bristles. “When what?”

“When'd Liam fuck you?”

A muscle is pulsing in Zayn’s jaw. Louis draws back from him, his hands going to the baby.

Zayn looks disgusted. “Don't give me that Virgin Mary routine…”

“Fuck off!”

_“When?”_

“It was on tour! When we were on tour! You and me were broken up, you'd left me!” Louis shouts, his voice cracking.

Zayn swells with rage. “You were pregnant with my _kid_! We were talking about working it out! And you went and fucked _Liam_? And lied to me about it?”

“I never lied to you! Keep your fuckin’ voice down!”

“And you cry on the phone to him, on _Christmas_ , about it's so hard for me, Liam, bein’ with that shithead Zayn --”

“I never said that, I never said you were hard to be with, please, Zayn --”

“Could you make it more obvious to me you're only with me ‘cos of the baby? Could you make that like, a _bit_ more fuckin’ obvious!”

“Yeah, you're right,” Louis shouts in his face, “it's a no-brainer to be with somebody who got me pregnant and abandoned me, ghosted me, fucked over our band and called me a bitch --”

“Oh, my fuckin’ _God_ , I'm gonna pay for this shit for the rest of my life,” Zayn screams back at him. “You're gonna leave me first chance you get and get so bitter over me, turn our kid against me --”

“ _Fuck you!_ ”

Zayn turns on his heel and storms down the stairs. Louis follows him as fast as he possibly can. He can hear that his family’s gone quiet in the den.

They end up out front in the freezing cold. Louis wraps his arms around himself, bracing against the wind. Zayn heads for his Escalade, getting in the front and jerking his thumb at his security parked down the street so they know to roll out.

Louis goes up to the driver’s side and slams his open palm down on the top of the bonnet. The metal sings. “Don't fuckin’ leave. Don't fuckin’ drive away!”

“I can't even look at you right now,” Zayn snaps, his phone shining on his lap as he plugs his London address into his GPS.

“Don't you dare fucking leave! _Zayn!_ I'm due in two weeks!”

Zayn looks him dead in the eye. “Is that baby even mine?”

Louis feels like he's been backhanded. His mouth floods with the taste of copper. He rails at him, kicking his car, screaming, “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! You _fuckin’_ bastard!”

Zayn’s eyes are wet. “Is she?”

“Yeah,” Louis cries, “she's yours, you arsehole, you know she's yours, she's the only thing I got to keep from before you wrecked everythin’ --”

Zayn flinches bodily.

“I said it was a mistake, sleeping with him, I said that on the phone, and it was! I was so lonely, you left me all alone --”

“I had _no one_ when I left that fuckin’ band!” Zayn rages. “And I've got no one now, clearly!”

“Don't leave, please, please don't --”

“Go inside, Louis,” he says, pressing the keyless ignition on the dash. The car growls to life, and Louis steps back. “Go inside. It's cold.”

Desperate, he cries out, “Don't you _fuckin’_ drive away from me!”

But Zayn’s car roars away down the street, into the pitch dark night, and he doesn't turn around or come back.

Louis stands there gasping for air like he's has the wind knocked out of him. He starts crying silently, frozen with disbelief. Zayn can't leave, he can't leave, their daughter could come any minute, he can't leave.

Hot tears sluice down his cheeks as he stands out there in the cold, alone. And then Lottie’s bringing him in, and everyone's fussing over him. He drinks water and barely says anything -- “We had a fight” -- then goes to bed.

He lies awake in bed, crying harder, for grief over Zayn, grief over Liam, grief that he’s fucked this up for his daughter. He wants a cigarette more than he's ever wanted anything, he wants weed, he wants to drink and drink and be numb.

 

*

 

On Christmas morning, Louis wakes early.

He sits up, slowly. His mouth is dry. The baby is quiet; she's usually asleep this time of morning.

He checks his phone. Nothing from Zayn. He shoots off a quick text to Liam.

_Zayn knows about us, he overheard us talking last night and stormed out on me. don't call or text him . just leave it alone so i can fix it_

_Shit louis i'm so fucking sorry_ , Liam says back, after typing for a minute or so.

_I know payno_

Louis lies there for a while. Late last night, he was having bad cramps and wondering if their argument sent him into early labor, but whatever he was feeling faded in the pale light of the morning. So he’s just waiting, still -- very pregnant, very alone. Like that movie he watched with Niall on the bus once, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Extremely Pregnant and Incredibly Alone.

He texts his security team _heads up_ , _im moving back to the London house later today_

Daniel texts him, in their private iMessage, _Everything okay??_

_Just a fight with Zayn_

_Ok,_ he replies. _Let me know if you need anything_

_Thanks, mate ._

 

 

LONDON, DECEMBER 25, 2015

Zayn’s mum is angrier than he's seen her in years when he turns up on their doorstep.

“What d’you mean, you had a fight?” she exclaims as she dogs his heels into the house.

He tosses his jacket at the coat rack and turns around, shrugging.

“You don't abandon your partner when they're about to have a baby because of one fight, Zayn!”

“I don't want to talk about it, mum,” he snaps. “He did something proper shitty, let’s leave it there.”

“Find a way to forgive him for the moment, because the baby he's having didn't do anything wrong!”

“I'm not _abandonin’_ him! Christ! I just need some space!”

Safaa appears upstairs, looking over the railing at them. “Zayn's home for Christmas?”

He smiles weakly at her.

“Yes,” says Trisha. “Apparently he is.”

 

*

 

Zayn is eventually booted from the house by his father, who tells him that he’s welcome to come back for Christmas dinner but he either needs to bring Louis or have made nice with him, otherwise he can't have any pie. He wanders around the neighborhood smoking, knowing his family’s address isn't a secret and blindly hoping that the paps have their own families they'd rather be home with right now.

And he doesn't get accosted by anyone, which is nice, because he can just imagine himself on TMZ tonight. BAD BABY DADDY on the sidebar, or something. ZAYN SPLITS -- AGAIN!

He misses Louis something awful. And he worries about him. But every time he pictures his face, he imagines Liam fucking him -- vivid color, surround sound, Louis moaning, the both of them grunting and sighing -- and he wants to kick someone's teeth in.

 

*

 

He goes to hang out with James at RCA’s London studio mid-afternoon, because he’s not going to go grovel to Louis right now. James is working Christmas --  he doesn’t give a fuck about the holidays -- so Zayn collapses into an armchair in the dark control booth and watches him move beats around on his laptop while they pass a joint back and forth.

“So,” James says, eventually. “It’s Christmas, mate.”

Zayn shrugs.

“I’m just saying, ‘cos like, aren't you about to be a dad? Why’re you here smoking me out?”

Zayn beats around the bush a bit, but he’s been more honest with James about this than he has with anyone else, maybe because James is a great mix of charismatic and emotionally detached. Zayn feels like he cares about whatever he’s saying, but knows James is too self-absorbed to go run and repeat whatever he said. So he lays it all out.

James shuts his laptop and takes his headphones off, then sits there, nodding.

“I mean that’s disgusting, yeah, but it could be worse,” he says. “Least you two weren’t together when they did it.”

Zayn violently ashes the joint. “He _kept_ it from me,” he says. “He fuckin’ -- he’s been takin’ calls from Liam, all this time. He goes in the other room an’ ‘e -- you should’ve heard him on the phone at his mum’s house, going, like, _Oh, Liam, it’s so hard for me, I can’t move on from you, oh, fuckin’ you was a mistake, I miss you_ \--”

He realizes he’s doing a sort of nasty, whining imitation of Louis’ voice and cuts it short. It was making his heart constrict to remember, anyway. He can hear the knife-sharp hurt in his own voice.

James is nodding at him, in a stoned way. “Least he said it was a mistake?”

“The way he said it, though,” Zayn says, and he has to stop and go quiet, because it stings to recall.

“Like how?”

“Like, not like he regretted doing it. Like he regretted he couldn’t do it anymore. And Liam, like…” He bites down hard one the inside of his cheek. “I thought I could trust him. I thought him and Louis were just good mates, and he wanted us to be together, that he was on my side. No, ‘e’s been poking at my fucking baby!"

Zayn gets up and walks away, pushing his hair back from his face. He’s hot in the face, and he feels like he’s saying too much. All of this is wrong. Louis was supposed to forgive him, to want him back by any means necessary. He thought the baby, made of their love, would bring Louis around as she grew in him -- that it’d be like how holding a hot mug of tea warms you up all over.

It doesn’t matter how many times he says it, _I only left the band, I didn’t mean to leave you,_ Louis never believes it. Maybe it’s a stupid thing to think, anyway. Louis is the core of the band, you couldn’t separate the two things with even the thinnest knife.

“You think he’d make a move?”

Zayn turns in the darkness and looks at James, who’s sitting slumped back in his rolling chair with his snapback half off his head of bleached hair and the joint waggling in his mouth. “Liam? ‘E wouldn’t come in between people who were together.”

“What would you do if he did?” James looks enthralled in a sort of academic way, like he’s watching Big Brother.

“He wouldn’t,” Zayn says, his voice clipped.

“Dunno if I’d bank on that.”

He extends his hand to Zayn, the joint between his fingers.

“I’m not,” Zayn says, and takes a drag. “There’s a kid involved. I know for a fact he wouldn’t do that.”

“There was a kid involved when he fucked Louis, wasn’t there?” James says, with no tact whatsoever.

Zayn exhales. His head is swimming. “Let’s talk about anythin’ else,” he says, and it’s not a suggestion.

 

 

LONDON, JANUARY 2, 2016

Zayn has a dream about Louis. They’re buying clothes for the baby, in a massive, brightly lit store. He’s just watching him, sometimes reaching out and stroking his hair or nudging his shoulder, and Louis’ll look up at him with a sweet smile.

He’s jolted coldly out of sleep by a distant lawnmower. He just stares up at the chandelier in his bedroom for a while while his eyes adjust to the dim gray January morning.

Zayn reaches for his phone, after a while. Louis has texted him again. _Please talk to me_

Zayn starts typing, finds there's nothing he can bring himself to say, and sets his phone aside.

 

*

 

Liam’s gift comes to Louis’ London place, like he couldn't bear sending it to Zayn’s address.

It's an absolutely beautiful glass mobile that sends prisms spinning all over the walls when it moves. Louis gets choked up holding it, so much so that he has set it back in the box and sit down, turning away physically like he's trying to shield his daughter from his inappropriate grief, his thwarted love for a man who isn't her father.

 

LONDON, JANUARY 7, 2016

Louis is in denial, when he wakes up that morning, that he’s in labor.

It’s probably Braxton Hicks, he reasons as he heats up a sad piece of zucchini loaf. So he settles down in the sitting room, with the rest of the zucchini loaf, because he’s not just going to have _one_ piece, fuck off. And he turns on the TV and he’s very comfortable there, for about a half hour.

Arsenal is slaughtering Man United when he has the first really bad one. It’s like someone’s just shoved a saw under his ribs and gone wild with it. He drops the bottle of water he’s holding, it’s so bad, and goes, “Oh, _fuck!_ Alright then!”

The pain radiates toward his back and he leans forward as best he can, sucking in air through his teeth, waiting for it to end.

“Don’t,” he begs aloud, looking helplessly around at his nice furniture like it’s going to help him. “Don’t be in labor. Don’t fuckin’ let me be in labor right now.”

He still hasn’t heard from Zayn. It’s been dead silence on his end, no texts back, nothing. But he calls him anyway.

Still nothing. Voicemail.

“Zayn,” he says aloud, phone balanced on his thigh as he jiggles his knee, bracing his hands against the cushions in case another comes. “I think I, um, think I might be in labor, like, properly. So if you could like… just call me back as soon as you get this.”

Louis wants to call his mum, or Lottie, or someone, but he doesn’t want to talk about Zayn, he doesn’t want to give voice to the shameful layers of this situation.

He tries to stand up. It takes him a few more goes than usual, because he’s shaky with adrenaline on top of everything else. And then he’s not quite sure why he’s standing, and doesn’t really want to be. His ultimate fantasy for all of this has been to lie in a nice, cozy hospital bed and get pumped full of drugs, then sort of be in a beatific, angelic haze and have the baby just slip out and be placed in his arms with no fuss or fanfare whatsoever. Everyone then comments, impressed, that he’s so thin and toned for having just given birth. Then he and the baby fall asleep, and no one wakes him up for a week.

In reality, Louis is swaying on his feet like he’s drunk. He catches a glimpse of himself in a mirrored wall; it’s not great. He’s really starting to sweat, now, he can tell, and his face is bright red. He wonders if the baby’s dropped lower today or if she’s been that low lately. He can’t remember what his books say, and he’s starting to get panicky.

He leaves Zayn another voicemail, this one more urgent, then rings up Daniel.

“I think the baby’s coming,” he says, sort of gingerly.

“Oh, shit, alright,” Daniel says. “I’m close by, I’ll pull in and we can go. I’ll call the hospital, all that? Where’s Zayn?”

“I dunno,” Louis says anxiously. “I dunno. I can't reach him. Can we go by his place?”

“Sure, whatever you want, man.”

Louis manages to get over to the entrance hall and does his best to get into a pair of Vans, but he can't see anywhere near his feet, and then he remembers there's no one there to tie them up for him anyway, so he entirely gives up and shuffles to the car in his sock feet.

He reaches the door before he doubles over from another contraction ricocheting from his middle up through his spine like electricity-tipped glass shards. He presses his hand hard to the glass of the window, shouting in pain and then swearing pitifully as it tails off. Daniel gets out and helps him into the car.

He wipes his sweaty brow and makes eye contact with a clearly worried Daniel in the mirror as they pull out of the circular drive.

“You think Zayn's even home?” Louis says wryly.

“Don’t know,” he says. “You try him?”

“Called him twice, left voicemails.”

“Try him again.”

Louis does, and lets it ring on speaker on the seat beside him. He tries to stay as calm as he can. Zayn or no Zayn, his kid is coming, and he's just going to have to do his best.

He gets his voicemail again. Almost at the same moment, his water breaks.

Louis sits in stunned silence for a moment as heat trickles uncomfortably over his lap.

“Yo, you reached Zayn’s personal cell, if we're cool, leave a message, if we're not, you shouldn't have this number, so go away...”

_Beep._

“Right then,” he says aloud, “here’s an update for you, my water’s just broke. And I'm on my way to yours. And if you ain't there, I'm using my key and I'm gonna have this baby on your nice white couch you like so much. So, you've got that to look forward to.”

He hangs up and runs his hands over the swell of his belly, breathing as deeply as he can. The baby’s pressed right against his diaphragm. He can tell if he tried to sing right now he’d sound like a mule bleating.

Daniel nervously clears his throat. “Your water just broke?”

“Yeah,” Louis says in a high voice. “I’m sure we can, um, get that out of the seats.”

“I mean, that isn't really what I'm worried about, kid.”

“I know.”

“Like, I’m thinking maybe we should go directly to the hospital.”

“Zayn’s only a few miles from Portland, yeah? So, like.” Louis shifts in discomfort. Absolutely no position feels good right now, and plus that his joggers are damp. He gets a little relief bracing against the door, so he does that.

“Um,” Daniel says gently. “I don't think that makes a whole lot of sense. Can I call an ambulance, at least?”

“No, they'll take me,” Louis says, breathing through his nose. “I want Zayn, I want him there. I've got to at least try and find him.”

“Louis…”

“Danny…” He tries to grin and be jovial, even though he's sweating like a builder and white as a sheet.

“Your call, man,” Daniel says, and that's all he says.

“My socks are wet,” Louis says, and laughs in hysteria.

“Oh, kid.”

“It really does just feel like I've weed myself.”

“Are you sure you haven't?”

He sounds hopeful, like he really thinks maybe Louis is just having Braxton Hicks so bad he’s screaming bloody murder and pissing himself in the backseat.

“I could tell the difference, yeah.”

The English countryside passes by in a green blur as they fly through the suburbs of London.

“Tell me Zayn’s not gonna bail on me,” Louis says, sounding small. “Please... I can’t do this alone.”

Up in front, Daniel nods slowly. “He's not going to bail on you,” he says. “I promise. He's not.”

Louis has another contraction, and he lets out a cry that peters into soft moaning. It hurts so bad he wants to vomit. And they’re coming too close together, he realizes in the foggy recesses of his mind. That was less than four minutes, just then.

Daniel says nothing, just watches him anxiously in the rearview mirror.

 

*

 

“Oi,” Louis shouts, his voice ringing through the house, bounced by the crazy high ceilings of the entryway. “Zayn!”

No answer. He might not be home, but his cars are all here.

Louis rings him, just in case. He’s about to give up when he hears it; the faintest tinkling ringtone from toward the back of the first floor.

His heart starts pounding worse, blurring his vision. If his phone’s here, if he’s here, why isn’t he picking up? Why isn’t he coming to get the door? He has another deeply paranoid moment where he thinks Zayn could be dead. He doesn’t think he’d make it through that, not right now, not like this.

He inches forward, slowed by creeping dread and active labor, barely moving. He dials the phone again and lets it ring. He follows the ringing to the back of the house, to a sunroom shaded in the boughs of a massive tree just outside.

Zayn is lying facedown on a black leather couch with his mobile next to him, unmoving but breathing, Louis notes with profound relief.

“Zayn,” he says loudly.

He stirs, then lifts his head and looks up at him with those lovely catlike eyes narrowed in annoyance. His hair’s got a new streak of purple in it.

“I called you,” Louis says, his voice catching. “Over and over. I’m in fuckin’ labor.”

“Oh, shit,” Zayn exclaims, jumping to his feet and yanking his jeans on where they’re abandoned on the floor. He reeks of liquor, Louis realizes when he stands up. “Shit, shit. Have you -- what, like it just started?”

Louis’ face gets hot and he inhales. “No, my contractions are like three, four minutes apart.”

Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Louis,” he says, sounding frightened, wrapping an arm around him and walking him back toward the front door, down the hall with all the abstract art on the walls. “You shouldn’t be on your feet. You should be in hospital. Fuckin’ Christ.”

Louis wipes tears off his face. “I had to come get you. I didn't -- I couldn't do this without you.”

“Oh, fuck. Babes, I’m so sorry. Fuck.”

Zayn kisses the side of his head, and he closes his eyes, dizzy with relief and anger and exhaustion. Then another contraction hits, and he’s grabbing for the wall, crying out, screaming and cursing. The pain is so bad it blinds him. Zayn wraps an arm tightly around him and keeps him upright.

“Maybe you ought t’ lie down, and I’ll call an ambulance,” he whispers.

“No, no,” Louis cries, “I need to -- just get me in the car, I wanna be movin’, I want to like -- I can’t just lie down here and wait --”

He knows she's coming very soon, he can feel it, and he still has a faint hope they can make it to the hospital. If he lies down on Zayn's couch, he's going to have her there, just like he threatened to.

Zayn nods, murmurs _alright,_ and keeps helping him along. Daniel appears from somewhere and suddenly he’s helping, too. Louis stumbles as the pain cranks up to white-hot, and then his stomach lurches and he’s vomiting on someone’s feet.

His own feet are taken out from under him. Louis blearily opens his eyes. Daniel’s picked him up, and is carrying him to the car.

“I'm dying,” he moans.

“You're not dying, love,” says Zayn’s voice from behind them.

They get along alright for a few minutes, flying down the road, but they crawl to a stop. Louis’ head is on Zayn’s lap; Zayn is stroking his hair. Up front, Daniel’s quietly swearing.

“What’s up?” he says hoarsely.

“Fuckin’ accident up ahead,” Daniel says.

Louis is struck with another contraction. They’re full-body now, clenching the entirety of him like a fist, and he feels an intense primal urge in him that he can’t hold at bay any longer. When it’s over, he sits up with Zayn’s help and puts a hand firmly on his thigh.

“She’s coming,” he manages.

Zayn squints at him, nodding, and reaches out to push his sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. “I know, babe.”

“No, like.” Louis laughs shakily. “Like right now. I'm havin’ this baby now.”

Zayn’s entire face drops in horror. “Oh, no, Louis, no, you aren't.”

“Hold your legs together,” Daniel says, and starts honking.

“I can’t,” Louis says, his voice rising. “You don’t get it. It’s happening.”

“God,” Zayn cries. “Fuck, shit, I'm way too hungover for this --”

“I need you two to calm down,” Louis says, low and guttural, and they both instantly shut up. He moves backward on the dark leather seats so his upper back is braced against the door. Zayn looks utterly helpless.

Daniel turns and looks at them, nonplussed, then bangs open the glove compartment and hands Zayn a first aid kit.

“If this is seriously happening, take this,” he says.

Louis tries to kick his joggers off; Zayn helps him with that, and then his boxers, and then looks up at him with wide eyes and shakes his head.

“I dunno what to do, Tommo,” he whispers. “I don’t.”

“Put the gloves on, first,” Louis says hoarsely, trembling as he breathes out. He can barely think; his mind is a steady drumbeat of push push. He’s hanging by a tether. “From the kit.”

Outside the car, there’s more honking.

Daniel glances over his shoulder. “You need me back there?”

“No!” Louis shouts. “ _Drive!”_

“I can't really drive when this is happening, Louis. I'm gonna have to pull over as soon as it's safe to.”

Zayn is sitting there, looking like he's in shock.

“Gloves,” Louis instructs him.

Zayn nods and pulls the gloves onto his hands. It takes him a few goes. He’s shaking, too, and pale.

“I think you’re supposed to push with the contractions,” he whispers. “The book I read -- uh -- fuck, bloody fuck, I can’t remember anything right now.”

Louis takes his hand and grips it hard. They sit there, waiting, breathing heavily.

“Can’t believe I was worried about the upholstery before,” he says to Daniel, who laughs a little hysterically.

Another contraction comes, and he's actually glad, now, that something's happening, that he isn't passively suffering. It's a relief. He still screams though, crushing the bones in Zayn’s hand together. Zayn lets out a strangled sound.

Louis drops his head back and uses their intertwined hands to wipe the sweat off his forehead. 

Traffic starts to move again, but Daniel makes the executive decision to pull off the road and call in to alert the police that two of the world’s biggest pop stars are in a car on the side of some shit little country road, delivering their own baby, so maybe someone should set up a road flare or something.

A trembling Zayn talks him through the entire thing, soothing him when he’s screaming in pain, coaching him, telling him he’s doing fantastic.

“Zayn, c’mon,” he exhales between contractions, digging his nails into his own palm. “What's goin’ on?”

“Got shoulders,” Zayn says, looking up at Louis as he feels blindly around. His face is pink, his gaze like two dark lasers. “One more good one, one more…”

Louis is shaking so bad he feels like he’ll break apart. “Okay,” he says in a daze.

In the distance, he hears sirens.

“They can't take me,” he says. “There's no way there aren't paps around --”

“Louis, Christ, do not worry about that right now,” Daniel says.

Freshly determined, he gives the next contraction everything he has, screaming bloody murder and probably breaking a bone or two in Zayn’s hand in the process.

“Okay! Okay!” Zayn sounds sort of hysterical, but greatly relieved. “There she is, alright, Jesus bloody Christ --”

In a haze of pain and exhaustion, he opens his eyes to see Zayn looking down in awe and swiping at her nostrils so she can take in air. He shrugs his jacket off and then he's lifting their baby, bloody and rawly new but there and theirs, swaddled in leather.

She lets out a pealing wail. Louis grins weakly at her, his heart throbbing with love.

“Danny, can you turn the heat up?” he calls hoarsely.

Zayn stares down at her, his brows knit in awe, his mouth open. “Hi,” he says softly.

After a moment he hands her to Louis, who feels an all-powerful tug in his chest as he takes her. He lays her across his chest, cradling her tiny head as she continues to cry.

“Baby,” he whispers in awe, tears pricking hotly at his eyes.

Zayn takes one of his shoes off and yanks out a lace, then ties the umbilical cord.

Louis looks at him with adoration. He's covered in blood like a butcher -- Louis’ blood -- his dark eyes all wild, sweating, his muscles defined from adrenaline. He's never looked better to Louis: like a father, like a protector, like a man. He peels the gloves off and tosses them aside.

“There's so much blood,” he says, looking worriedly up at Louis. “Is there supposed to be this much?"

“C'mere,” Louis says hoarsely.

Zayn beckons him forward and then sits behind him, supporting him so he can lay back bonelessly. They both pet and murmur to their daughter, whose wails peter off.

The sirens stop behind them and then shut off, leaving silence. Daniel hops out, slamming the door firmly shut behind them.

Louis is faintly aware of the first responders loudly talking over each other behind the car. Zayn is stroking his fingers through his hair. It feels good, soothing.

After a minute or so an EMT opens the door to the back, looks at the three of them in surprise and goes, “Oh! So you're all finished, then.”

“Traffic,” Louis says drily.

“You're not alone, there,” he says, climbing into the car. “Get a call like this about once a month.”

The EMT budges Zayn out of the way so he can examine Louis. Zayn hovers, sitting on the opposite row of seats, watching them anxiously. Louis explains to the bloke about the preeclampsia, so he takes his blood pressure and vitals, then pronounces him healthy as a horse.

Louis nuzzles and kisses his daughter, who got fussy again with the intrusion but seems to relax at his smell and the sound of his voice.

The EMT (Blake, says his name tag) snips the cord and disposes of all of the ephemera, then brings a few blankets and towels to cover Louis and the baby. Louis appreciates this. He's shaking like a leaf from shock and the January air.

Outside, he can hear Daniel explaining the situation to the bobbies; it's pretty funny to listen to.

Zayn comes back over while everyone else gathers by the back of the car, loudly sorting out how to get Louis from the Escalade into the ambulance without him getting photographed. People are already starting to rubberneck because of the police cars. Louis tunes out all of this as they sit gazing at the baby.

“I can't believe it's our daughter,” Zayn says, his voice thick with emotion. “God.”

Louis’ eyes and nose get prickly hot again. He sniffles. “I know… me neither.”

Zayn inhales and shakes his head. “I almost thought she'd never be real.”

“Came into the world proper aggressive,” Louis says, and laughs tearily. “Big fuck-off rock star, this one. Ain't got time for anyone else's schedule.”

“No, apparently not,” Zayn says with tender fondness.

The baby’s nose twitches. Her eyes are still squeezed determinedly shut.

“She's gonna learn to ride a bicycle,” Louis murmurs, stroking a finger over her little head. “And how to do fractions. And how to walk and how to talk...”

“Too much shit to even think about.”

“But exciting, like.”

Zayn nods and kisses his temple.

“I can't believe I had our baby in the backseat of a car,” he mutters.

“I mean, I got you pregnant in the backseat of a car, so…”

“Bus.”

“Same thing.”

“Bus one,” Louis murmurs, smiling at him, and Zayn grins back.

“We should name her Bus One,” he says, stroking her head.

Louis laughs. “Honestly. Or Danny.”

“Hey, who delivered her? All Danny did was hand me the gloves.”

“Zayn Jr. Or Zayna.”

“Better.”

The baby lets out a whimpery coo, and they coo back to her in unison, accidentally harmonizing.

“How long did it take?” Louis murmurs. “I didn't have a good sense of time.”

“Oh, like not even five minutes.”

“Holy fuck. Felt like an hour.”

“You okay?”

“No,” Louis admits. “I mean, yeah, but no.”

Zayn studies him and strokes his face.

Daniel comes back. “We alright in here?” he says, glancing through the partition at them. “How's baby, how's Dad?”

“Me?” says Zayn.

“The dad that just pushed a person out of himself.”

“I'm alright,” Louis says wearily. “So’s she. I want drugs. Like right now.”

“Alright, well, the plan is I'm driving you to the hospital, where they have better protocol for hiding a celebrity than they do on the side of the road.”

“Do they want to take her in the ambulance?” Louis says, worried, sitting up and adjusting the baby on his chest. She's dozed off in all the commotion. “We don't have a car seat or anythin’.”

“Just hold her tight, Lou, we’re only a few miles out. This road joins up with the A501, that guy just told me, we're going to head there very slow and we've got a police escort the whole way. She's not gonna do better away from you, bouncing around in the back of a cold ambulance, trust me.”

“Okay,” Louis says, and settles back against Zayn, who circles his arms around him so they're both holding the baby.

“She's got such dark hair already,” Zayn whispers.

“Yeah, she does, Mr ‘Is she even mine’,” Louis mutters.

Zayn kisses him on the cheek and says _sorry, sorry, sorry._

He shakes his head. “We both said shit we didn't mean. It's alright.”

 

*

 

Joan seems rather cross about the whole thing.

“You did my job for me, Louis,” she tells him sternly when she walks in.

“I know, I know…”

“With a high-risk pregnancy like this, it's really best to get to the hospital if you can,” she says, bustling toward them.

The room they're in is nice. More like a hotel suite. They got to skip the whole delivery room bit and go straight to the good digs, with wood-paneled walls and plants everywhere. Louis has Demerol pumping into his vein, and he feels great.

“It happened really fast,” he says, as she bends down to examine him. He's up in those undignified stirrups again.

Zayn stands nearby, rocking the baby, who he's just fed. He watches Joan with sharp eyes. He's been funnily territorial toward everyone who gets near Louis or the baby. Even the nurse who helped Louis into a wheelchair got snapped at for manhandling him.

“Yes, I can tell it did,” Joan says. “You need stitches.”

“Shit, seriously?”

“It's alright, it happens.”

Louis nods. The baby starts wailing again, sounding like a cat.

“Oh, oh,” Zayn murmurs, bouncing more gently. “What's up, love? What'd we do wrong?”

A nurse pokes her head in the door. “Someone's family is here, and someone else's family is on their way.”

“Who's here?” Louis says.

“Maliks. Tomlinsons on their way.”

“I want to take you in for those stitches now,” Joan says, “and an ultrasound, to make sure everything’s peaches.”

Louis looks anxiously over at Zayn and the baby.

“We’ll be here,” Zayn reassures him.

While Joan gets ready, he texts Liam and Niall in their old group chat, which was usually reserved for hiding surprises from Harry or sharing memes too laddy for him to appreciate, and says _baby is here xx_

 _Oh shit !_ Niall texts back immediately

_Sort of had her in the car lads_

_Noo !_ Niall says. _Are you for real?_

_Dead serious. she came 2 fast 2 furious_

_lol bloody hell_ , says Niall.

 _Literally_ , Louis replies.

 _Congrats!!!!!!!!!_ Liam says. The sheer amount of exclamation points makes it clear this is difficult news for him. _Name yet?_

_No name yet_

_Niall jr,_ says Niall. Then he texts Louis privately, _I can let harold know if you want. so he's ready when it gets out._

_Id appreciate it mate thanks . just don't want him to think i'm rubbing it in his face_

_he wouldn't. I get it though_

 

*

 

When they wheel Louis back in, he's even more drugged, and sings to Zayn, “It's me daughter, Busone,” which they both laugh at. He pronounces it _Boo-sone_ , like it's French.

“Guess who's a whole seven pounds?” Zayn says proudly. “Exactly seven.”

Louis grins. “That can be her jersey number.”

Zayn hands her over. She's all cleaned up and swaddled now, and she looks much better. Louis feels great relief at having her back in his arms.

“Hi baby,” he murmurs to her, as he's helped into bed by Zayn and a strong nurse. He feels weird and stiff and achey below the waist. “Hi, angel.”

“She missed you,” Zayn says tenderly, pulling up a chair beside his bed. “Kept fussing and crying.”

“Oh, baby,” Louis says, stroking her cheek with his fingers. She looks up at him with the scrunched, suspicious curiosity of a newborn, and his heart swells in his chest. “Boo-boo. My boo boo baby.”

“I just texted Rick Owens,” Zayn says. “Asking how do I get bloodstains out of one of his jackets. He says congrats, and use dish soap.”

Louis laughs.

There's a knock at the door and then Trisha tentatively comes in, bracelets jangling on her wrists. “Oh my God,” she says, clapping a hand to her mouth. “Why’s my son covered in blood?”

“Oh, shit,” Zayn says, looking down at his white shirt. “I should probably --”

The male nurse, who’s been puttering around, produces a clean shirt from a drawer of linens and hands it wordlessly to Zayn. Zayn pulls the bloody one off over his head and puts it in the medical waste bin.

Louis beckons Trisha over and hands her the baby, then lies back against the bed and watches her fuss over her, his eyelids heavy.

“Oh, she's just darling,” she murmurs. “She looks like Zayn did… and I think she has your eyes, Louis…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Zayn’s bloody ‘cos he delivered her,” he murmurs sleepily. Trisha’s mouth forms an O.

“What? When?” she exclaims.

“I had her in the car on the way over.”

“Noo, you didn't! Oh, poor Louis!”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t too bad.”

She turns to Zayn in shock, hitching the baby up in her arms. “You _delivered_ her?”

Zayn shrugs, too. “It all happened really fast. Louis talked me through it.”

“Y’know. Midwife for a mum.”

“Well... have we named this very impatient baby yet?” Trisha says, running a finger over her little nose.

They shake their heads.

“We’ve got a list,” Zayn says.

Louis’ head lolls on the pillow, and whatever the two of them are saying starts blurring together. He itches to have the baby back in his arms, but he's too sleepy to form words, and then he's falling asleep.

 

*

 

While he's asleep, the mums and sisters team up to put together a care package for him to take home of some things he didn't even realize he'd need, and Zayn goes shopping for candy cigars and gets papped in his hospital wristband.

So Louis wakes up to a bunch of notifications about himself (“ONE DIRECTION SINGERS WELCOME BABY GIRL”) and hundreds of congratulations texts. He scrolls through them, dazed, holding the baby to his chest. Her little hands are fisted in his hospital gown.

Both their families fuss over him and the baby, doting, clearly sharing in a silent mutual relief that Zayn and Louis are together and seem happy.

And they are. For hours, Zayn doesn't leave his side or stop gazing at him and the baby. He sits on the edge of the bed at one point, and Louis leans bodily into him, face against the rangy sprawl of his ribcage, and he starts to drift off.

“Oh, Louis’ asleep again,” Lottie whispers.

“'M not asleep,” Louis protests, but someone gently takes the baby from him, and Zayn strokes his hair.

 

LONDON, JANUARY 8, 2016

They make him stay overnight, and turn him loose the next morning. He tries to climb out of the wheelchair and walk to the car under his own steam, since Zayn’s got the baby in a carrier, but his body’s gone all funny on him and he nearly falls over.

“Stop it,” Zayn says sharply. “Let people take care of you.”

So he waits impatiently with the baby as Zayn climbs all over the seats, trying to figure out how the carrier goes in.

“It's --” Daniel clears his throat. “You've got it backwards, I think.”

Zayn glances at the booklet, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “That's not what it says.”

“You're holding part B, right?”

“Nah, this is D.”

Louis looks down at Mia, who was finally named after a very protracted morning argument over Malik-Tomlinson versus Tomlinson-Malik (in the end, Mia Yasmeen Tomlinson-Malik ended up on her birth certificate).

He had to veto Zayn several times, once when he said “I heard last week Chrissy Teigen and John Legend are gonna name their kid Luna, can we steal that? D’you think they'd be narked?” and then after “What if we named her Yves?”

“What if we named her Adidas?” Louis countered sarcastically.

“Wait, hold up, we could name her Nike. That’s like, a Greek goddess or summat.”

“We can't name her _Nike_ , mate.”

“Why not?”

“It's silly, plus I’ve got a contract with Adidas.”

“I don't think they care what you name your baby.”

“No stupid celebrity names for our kid, please.”

When they get home, Mia starts wailing again. They can't tell her cries apart yet, so Zayn starts to puzzle out what she's upset about while Louis goes into the toilet.

He uncaps this ointment Joan gave him. It’s supposed to forestall colostrum coming in, which apparently happens in men even if they don't have milk, leaving you in chronic pain and dribbling through your shirts. He rubs it onto his nipples, wincing. They hurt like crazy. Everything hurts, right now. His abs feel destroyed; even his thigh muscles ache.

Louis sets the glass container down with a hard clink that echoes through the large, ornate bathroom, then goes to find Zayn.

He's standing in the sitting room, silhouetted against the massive bay window and bouncing his weight from foot to foot to soothe the baby, the carrier and toys and other baby supplies scattered at his feet.

Louis has a sort of out of body experience, then. He sees himself, leaky and bleeding, held together at the seams, staring at his twenty-two-year-old on-and-off boyfriend and their newborn baby, and the gravity of the situation clobbers him in the head.

“Hey,” he says, giving Zayn a thousand-yard stare.

“Hey,” Zayn says back. “Quick question…”

“Yeah.”

“Would you, like, kill me if I went into the studio tonight?”

Anger flares in him. “You've got the worst timing in the world, you know that?”

“Alright, just say no,” Zayn says, clearly trying to keep his tone light.

“No! Why even ask?” Louis is baffled by how easy it is lately for Zayn to get him to play the killjoy, the bitch, the mean wet blanket. He isn't any of those things. He's loads of fucking fun. They're supposed to be partners in crime. It's so unfair.

Mia lets out a hiccupy wail. Louis runs his hand through his hair.

“Gimme her,” he says.

“No, you can go lie down,” Zayn assures him.

“Gimme her…”

Zayn, who Louis is just noticing looks fairly exhausted himself, brings the baby over and passes her to him. Louis takes her, cooing, still awash in awe and adoration of this tiny creature he made. Mia starts to quiet down.

“You're good with her,” Zayn says, sounding jealous.

“It's just she already knows me,” Louis sings, bringing her over to the sofa so he can gingerly sit.

He clutches her to him, filled with a dread he can't put quite words to, a dread that snakes through his entire body. What has he done to her, he wonders, bringing her into the world? He never thought about that. He would never have thought about that. He was just trying to keep Zayn in his life, not make a new person.

Zayn stands over him, still lit from behind, his face dark and his hair haloed.

Louis desperately tries to hold onto the Zayn from the back of the car, the Zayn who brought their daughter into the world with his own two hands, the Zayn he loves and who loves him.

In his arms, Mia has quieted.

 

LONDON, JANUARY 20, 2016

The next few weeks pass in a haze of doctor’s check-ups and sleepless nights.

Mia cries constantly. The only thing that soothes her is car rides (which they both find ironically appropriate) so they spend long hours driving very slowly around the city’s richest suburbs, Zayn sitting in the driver’s seat and blinking hard against the fuzzy, gleaming daze of streetlights, Louis lying in the passenger seat with it cranked way back, the baby lying on his chest.

Zayn plays rough cuts from his album to help stay awake, or maybe because he's finally got Louis as a captive audience. He kept refusing to listen to the album when he was pregnant, still bitter over Zayn leaving the band and the current fractured state of it -- heartsick Liam, cold Harry, anxious Niall. But now she's here and all of that seems small and faraway. Left in the rearview. So he listens to Zayn’s record.

Zayn is usually quiet for the most part when he plays it, thrumming with nervous energy in the seat across from him, clearly wanting Louis’ input but unwilling to ask for it. Sometimes he’ll murmur, “This is about you,” and then Louis will pay extra hard attention to the lyrics, squinting up at the ceiling of the Rolls while the baby suckles at his fingers.

One night, Louis murmurs in reply, “Sounds sort of moody.”

“This one… ‘s’like, when we were fighting,” Zayn says, and drums his thumb on the steering wheel.

Louis doesn’t ask which time he means.

When they're going back in the house, which is eerie in its early morning stillness with moonlight pouring through the windows, Zayn says, “I sort of feel like it's me other baby? Like, the one I'm pregnant with?”

Louis snorts weakly.

“Just metaphorically,” Zayn adds.

“Y’know, _I_ had an album last year,” Louis says. “Nothing like having a baby.”

“It wasn't a solo album, mate.”

Louis’ chest clenches with hot annoyance. “Whatever, Zayn,” he sings to the snoozing baby in his arms, as he climbs the stairs. “Whatever, whatever, whatever --”

“It wasn't!” Zayn exclaims as he climbs up after him. “You don’t get what I’m trying to say, like.”

“Just leave it.”

“You can do solo stuff if you want to. Harry and Liam are both making moves, signing deals.”

He says this sort of bitterly.

“I thought Liam's name was banned from the house.”

Zayn shrugs. “In any other context, yeah.”

He trails behind Louis through the upstairs hallway. Large, dark paintings loom on the walls in the early silvery light. Louis presses his mouth to Mia’s head, inhaling her newborn smell.

He gently deposits her on her back in the crib, then swaddles her. A light flicks on behind him; Zayn’s brushing his teeth in the bathroom. His spit hits the marble sink with a soft sound. The baby blinks up at Louis.

“One hour,” he says to her, his voice soft with affection. “Two? Can we get two?”

She burbles and blows a spit bubble.

Zayn appears in the doorway, his hands wrapped around either side of it, watching Louis.

Louis doesn’t look back at him; he keeps his eyes fixed on the baby. “I think she's down.”

“Okay,” he says, and guides Louis to bed, falling into it with him and pulling the dark, silky comforter over them.

Zayn wraps his arms around Louis and nuzzles him. Louis, bone-tired, starts to doze off, his brain fuzzing up and his body going limp.

Zayn starts trying to snog him. Louis, disoriented, clumsily kisses him back and runs his fingers through his hair, then wraps a hand around the back of his neck and drags him back slightly.

“What,” Zayn mutters, searching his face. “I can't kiss you?”

“You can kiss me, mate, but I'm going to sleep.”

“Lemme blow you,” Zayn murmurs, kissing up his neck.

“Sleep,” Louis says, a bit hysterically. He misses being touched, it’s just he’s so exhausted. He can jerk off in the shower tomorrow, but he can't sleep in there.

Zayn lies down beside him, clearly annoyed. “When’re we gonna have sex again?”

“What kind of sex?”

“You know what kind I mean.”

“At least a couple weeks.”

Zayn sighs. Louis shifts on the bed, now more awake than he'd like to be.

“Look,” he says, wanting to finish this so he can sleep, “if you're insecure about Liam or whatever, I'm here in your bed and he's out in L.A. He's not even a little bit of a threat to you.”

“Never should've been one in the first place,” Zayn says, pushing his hair back off his face.

“Sorry for being horny an’ lonely. Don't lie and tell me you didn't fuck anyone while we were apart.”

“Aye, couple of randoms. Liam's like a brother to me. And to you. I thought.”

“ _You_ were like a brother to me, ‘til you fucked me.”

“Didn't fuck you,” Zayn says. “You jumped on _me_ when we were high.”

“You wanted me to.”

“‘Course I did. Don't mean it was a good idea, though.”

They pause.

“Are we arguing?” Louis says, his voice cracking from tiredness. “Or can I sleep?”

Zayn worries at his lip with his teeth and looks away, off in fuzzy darkness.

“I just miss you,” he says softly. “An’ you're ‘ere next to me all fuckin’ day. You’re in my house and we're raising our baby, and I still miss you.”

“I miss _you_ ,” Louis cries out. “I miss the Zayn from before.”

“I am who I am! This is me! This is who I always was!”

“An arse who screams at me and drives away when I'm nine months pregnant?” Louis says, the wounded parts of his psyche throbbing.

Zayn looks terribly guilty, then. “You've got no idea how angry you can make people,” he says.

“So deal with me,” Louis snaps. “You wanted me. You got me. Deal with me. Even when you hate me.”

“I can't hate you,” Zayn says miserably. “I could never hate you. You can hate me just fine.”

“I can't hate you either.”

“Yeah you can. You can turn your feelings off. Always could. Just snap right off, like an icicle. When you and Harry started drifting apart and he got tight with Nick --” Zayn mines snapping something. “Was like night and day, ‘e said.”

“That's not how I am at all! Are you fuckin’ crazy? And of course that's how he claims it went down, of fuckin’ course --”

“I'm just saying --”

“Don't talk to me about him,” Louis says, hating how Zayn's face and voice soften wistfully every time he mentions Harry.

“Just an example.”

“It's a shit example. You want to put all the blame on me because I'm a cold bitch, or whatever,” Louis says, sitting up a bit, his voice rising. “When you know fuckin’ well I'm one of the most loyal people in your fuckin’ life, that I put my heart into everythin’ and try to do the right thing by people, that I’ve been ‘urtin’ lately, but you want to think the worst of me all the time, fine, then fuck off!”

Shaking with adrenaline, he yanks the comforter over himself and lies facing away from Zayn, trying to steady his breathing.

“I didn't mean it like that,” Zayn says, exhaling heavily.

Louis clenches and unclenches his jaw. “Then what did you mean?”

“Just that you feel so far away sometimes... You know I love you, Louis.”

Louis hesitates. “Are you in love with me?”

Zayn leans down and kisses the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says throatily. “I am. You in love with me?”

Louis goes silent for a very loud few seconds.

“I dunno,” he admits with difficulty.

Zayn snorts. “Guess that's better than no.”

“I’d gotten used to the idea that I’d be raising this baby alone, without you,” he mutters tiredly, his head heavy against the pillow. “I put up walls. Sorry. Still takin’ them down. Takes a while.”

“Thanks for the honesty, I guess.”

Louis reaches behind himself, reaching for him. “Can you hold me?”

Zayn obliges, wrapping himself back around Louis, a comforting weight and warmth against his back and around his waist.

“We should move to L.A.,” he says sleepily. “Make that home base.”

Louis lets out a soft sigh.

“What? We talked about this last year. It makes sense, for your career and mine… we can fly back and see our families, ain’t a big deal…”

“I dunno. No, yeah, I’m fine with that. I just, like.”

“What?”

Louis has a hundred thoughts about this. His career? What career? And he doesn't really like L.A., at the end of the day. But he ought to be compromising, shouldn't he? “Nothing. Yeah, love, let’s do it.”

 

LONDON, FEBRUARY 24, 2016

 _Ill go to the brits with you if we skip the red carpet,_ Louis texts Liam, two days prior.

 _Deal_ , Liam texts back almost immediately.

 

*

 

They both know it’s a mistake from the second they lay eyes on each other in the green room. Louis’ entire body tenses up; the hair on the back of his neck rises, prickly. It’s such an instant and full-body reaction that it’s more similar to hate than lust. It’s like someone walked into the room that Louis wants to beat the living hell out of.

Liam radiates guilt as he walks over to him. Alice Levine gets off the couch behind them and goes to meet her friend at the door; with that, they’re pretty much alone, save for a big bowl of crisps on the table next to them and a very preoccupied producer talking into his headset at the other end of the room.

“Hey,” Liam says. “You look good.”

Louis clears his throat, and Liam winces.

“I fucked it up immediately,” he adds.

“We’ll get there,” Louis says drily. “Got a couple hours to perfect it.”

“Mike wanted us to do a couple interviews,” Liam says, drawing his full lip into his mouth. Louis’ eyes follow it as it goes. “If you’re up for it. Down for it.”

“I’m down.”

He’s going to have to physically distance himself from Liam on camera, or something. Zayn’s going to watch, Louis knows he is.

If it weren’t true, that would be one thing. If he didn’t still want to fuck Liam, if he didn’t miss him at least once a day, there wouldn’t be a fight to have. But how can he tell Zayn that he’s crazy for picking up on tension so thick it would resist even being cut with a knife -- a rubbery, disgusting obscenity lingering between him and Liam, a swamp of lust?

But he chose Zayn, very deliberately. Every day he wakes up and chooses Zayn with stubborn fierceness. So when they leave, he walks a few steps behind Liam, establishing a buffer of space that’s going to have to remain there for the entire night.

 

*

 

It's all good until afterward, when Liam's gone beyond tipsy and starts begging him to come to an after party at Nick’s.

“Payno, I've got the baby at home,” he says. He's already anxious to get back to her, his skin humming and itching. He can't focus well on anything else.

“Just stay a half hour,” Liam begs him.

Louis relents. He misses being around Liam, even though things are weird.

They have a few drinks on the patio. The house is so full of people, falling in and out of doors, shouting drunkenly. Louis finds himself light-headed and off-center almost immediately. He’s such a lightweight, now. He forgot he hasn’t drank in nearly a year.

Liam is worse, though. Liam is straight-up pissed. As they talk (avoiding any sensitive topics, like the band, each other’s romantic lives, or the baby, which leaves them primarily with sports and weather) he grows more incoherent and flush-faced, until he’s sagging against Louis on the couch they’re on.

Nick walks by, finally. Louis hasn’t seen him all night. He raises his eyebrows at them and stops, letting his group of friends go ahead of him. “Payno good?”

“I’m gonna turn him over to Paddy, actually,” Louis says, trying to push Liam up. He’s a load of dead weight. Nick takes him by the arms and pulls him to his feet, and then the two of them walk him toward the door.

They help him over the walkway up to the house, the party noises receding behind them, then gingerly crunch over the gravel driveway. Liam shifts and coughs, pulling on Louis, who feels a tug where the stitches recently came out and winces.

Paddy gets out when he spots them, and helps heave Liam into the Escalade like a sack of laundry. Nick shuts the door behind him and turns to Louis.

“You know he’s completely sick over you, right?” he says, squinting at him in the dim light from the lanterns along his fenceline.

“Fuckin’ don’t,” Louis says viciously, his heart dropping like a stone. “Don’t do this to me. Not you too.”

“I just thought you ought to know.”

“I’m well fucking aware.”

Nick lifts his eyebrows and walks away, beginning to whistle. Louis gives his retreating back the finger, then pulls open the door with a hard tug.

“Hey,” he says to Liam, who looks marginally more sober and smiles broadly when he pokes his head in.

“Tommo-o,” he says.

Louis swallows over the lump in his throat. “I wanted to say goodnight.”

“Aight. Goodnight.”

Louis comes over to him, perching next to him on the bench seat. Liam studies him, his dark brow knit in concern, and reaches up to push his hair back from his face.

“I, um,” Louis says, his voice coming out rough. He clears his throat. “I think you were right. We ought to give each other space. And time. A lot of both, actually.”

“Louis…”

“No, I just.” His lip twitches. He can’t look at Liam; he’s staring at his own hands. “Just. I can’t do this. I don’t think you can either.”

Liam leans in, tilting his face to kiss him. Louis almost lets it happen, too, then pushes him away in a spasm of fear.

“No,” he says sharply, and backs away, leaning against the car door.

“Sorry, I'm sorry, fuck --” Liam looks agonized. “I dunno why I did that --”

“I’ve got a family now! I can’t do this shit! You know that!”

Liam runs his hands through his hair and leans down, head between his knees. When he straightens back up, he looks absolutely gutted, but nods. “I know, I'm so sorry.”

Louis’ heart is going rabbit-fast in his chest. He feels sick. Under his shirt, he’s leaking. He forgot to put the fucking ointment on.

“Why d’you even want me?” he demands, sounding flat-out raw now. He's starting to cry, partly from the head rush of alcohol and his soup of hormones. “Why d’you -- I’m not whatever you think I am. I’m not.”

Liam is shaking his head.

“I know you,” he says, simply.

“Forget what you think you know,” Louis says. “Forget all of it.” He stands there trembling for a moment, tears trailing down his cheeks, then says, “It’s over, innit? Harry won't even talk to me. You and me can’t be in a room together. It’s all over. So forget it.”

The look on Liam’s face is like an axe through his chest.

“Goodnight,” Louis says, and climbs out of the car, shutting the door hard behind him. He strides away into the night, wiping his eyes so he can see enough to pick his car out of the endless fleet of identical black luxury SUVs.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, MARCH 6, 2016

Zayn and Louis have both got objections to each other's places in L.A., so in the end they just throw them both up on the market and go in together on a place they reach a reasonable compromise on, to the tune of five million.

Louis actually really likes the house. It’s tasteful but cool, all white with black marble accents and dark Brazilian walnut floors, nestled in the Hollywood Hills with a massive hilly green backyard that ends at its perimeters in gargantuan pap-proof hedges. Even despite these, when he takes Mia out so he can lay her in the grass on her back to get some sunshine while he answers texts, he still finds himself looking out over the vista and scanning like a Terminator, expecting someone to pop out with a camera. _Boo!_

Once they make the move, Zayn is gone about twice as much, which Louis is alright with for once. The baby sucks everything out of him, and he wants to give it to her -- she gets all his smiles, and all of his doting, and all of his patience and energy, and then when Zayn gets home, he hasn’t got much left.

He does try. They blow each other and exchange smiley good morning kisses, and Louis nuzzles into the crook of his arm while they watch movies. They try to rediscover each other like they did in December -- except Louis is no longer pregnant, and he’s in postpartum emotional turmoil as opposed to post-tour emotional turmoil, so it’s different.

Slowly he remembers that he likes how Zayn is casually possessive, always gently grabbing or squeezing him, leaving hickies on him. He remembers that he likes how they’ve got similar sex drives, that he can feel the heat in Zayn’s gaze across a room. And they’ve been so tight for so long that it’s easy to just fall back on wordless intimacy, to watch a few reruns of _Viva La Bam_ while they lazily rub each other off and then go to bed without having to say a word.

Zayn misses being inside him, Louis knows. He feels reassured by the fact that he knows Zayn is jerking off constantly and has greatly increased his porn consumption. If he were getting it somewhere else, he wouldn’t be this frustrated, wouldn't nightly press his hard-on against Louis when they spoon.

They get the dog they talked about, an Irish Setter puppy who treats Mia like she’s made of glass. They name him Bo. He spends his days galloping around in the yard while Louis tosses tennis balls to him.

They’re in the tabloids a lot, now, for no reason Louis can understand. It’s the most boring photos of them. In one, he’s standing out front in the circular driveway in his sock feet, watching Zayn get out of the car so he can help him bring some bags in; in another, Zayn’s walking the dog. These are all printed in InStyle with excited, bubbly white subheads full of puns.

Niall comes over a lot, although only when Zayn isn’t there. He’s full of juicy tidbits about the other boys that pierce Louis’ heart to hear, but that he wants to hear nonetheless. Like that Liam is partying a lot, again (since the Brits, Louis thinks, and then feels horrendous, and then pushes it away by thinking he’s being self-involved, maybe this has got nothing to do with him) and Harry recently had a threesome he regrets.

“What was the combination?” Louis says. They’re sitting in the conversation pit of the sunken sitting room, massive fireplace flickering behind them. He thought it was a dumb feature when they moved in, because it takes up half the wall, but now he finds himself spending long hours curled up in front of it.

He’s drinking a Corona, because he can, pushing the baby’s swing with his foot as she gazes up at a plastic mobile.

“What d’you mean?” Niall says, setting his own beer on the table.

“Bird, bird, Harry? Bird, lad, Harry?”

“Ohh, right. I think the second one. Yeah, no, it was the second one.” He laughs. “Some middle-aged creep, Harry, and a model.”

“Model for what?”

“Think one of the Angels, actually, but like, not all that famous. One o’ the ones where you can’t quite put a name to the face.”

“I bet they made her watch while they sixty-nined,” Louis says. “She’s just waiting in the corner, like, arms folded…”

“Tappin’ her watch…”

“Old creep’s takin’ ages to come, Harry’s like, red in the face, apologizing to her…” Louis makes a frantic jerking-off gesture.

Niall laughs so hard he chokes on beer foam.

“You know what,” Louis says to Mia in a baby voice, “gonna be a shame when you start learnin’ words and I can’t say this shit ‘round you no more.”

“I can’t believe she’s only two months,” Niall says. “Feels like I went t’ meet her ages ago.”

“I barely even remember that,” Louis says. “I was so fucked on Demerol. Thanks for coming all the way out, I appreciated it.”

Niall nods. “I wanted to, Tommo.”

“Feels weird Liam hasn’t met her,” Louis says, and gnaws on his lip. “Just ‘cos. I dunno.” He clears his throat. “He was the first person I even told I was pregnant.”

“He’s staying away,” Niall says, then adds after a pause: “At your request.”

This lands heavily between them.

“So he told you about the Brits,” Louis says, running his thumb along the rim of his beer, and then glancing over his shoulder as if Zayn might have suddenly appeared. He hasn’t.

The baby fusses, because he stopped rocking her. Louis gives her an apologetic expression and starts again.

“Needy needy,” he chides her, smiling when she calms down and settles happily back.

“Yeah,” Niall says. “He did. Sort of surprised you didn’t.”

“Not something I wanted to dwell on. Let’s just leave it.”

Niall makes a noise of agreement and comes over to play with Mia.

“How's things with Zayn?” he says, chucking her under her chin.

“Oh, you know...” He trails off and shrugs.

“That good?”

Louis snorts. “Well, it's our paradise and our war zone…”

Niall has a good laugh at this.

“No, I'm being a dickhead, it's been good. He's just not home a lot the last few weeks, but…” Louis watches as Niall lifts the baby from her buggy. She looks intently at him, her blue eyes big in her face, her inky hair curling around her ears. She's perfectly chubby right now, her rosy cheeks round like apples. “I'm fairly focused on this one, so…”

“Can't blame you,” Niall says. “She's a cutie.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, smiling easily. “Hey, what's going on in _your_ love life, lad?”

Niall makes faces for the baby, who smiles gummily at him. “Ah, same old, same old. You know me, I'm a confirmed bachelor.”

“Niall, you know that's slang for being an old poof.”

“Oh, shit. Seriously?”

“Yeah!”

Niall blanches. “I’ve told me dad I'm an old poof, then.”

Louis falls out laughing at this.

 

*

 

The meeting’s in a beautiful all-windows conference room overlooking the rolling green of the Valley, and someone instantly comes to refill Zayn's iced tea every time it gets lower than half. But other than sitting there drinking iced tea until he has to piss very badly, he serves no purpose today; just has to park his arse in a chair and listen to his legal team talk.

He thinks about the baby as he sits there. He wants to go home to her and Louis every time he's at work, but something changes when he passes over the threshold. Zayn looks at her and he sees her profound helplessness, her big fragile head, and he freezes up with sticky anxiety. Bath time, feeding her, none of it comes easily to him.

Tilt the bottle wrong and she'll drink too much and choke, look at your phone for one second and she'll slip under the bathwater and drown. Or so he’s convinced himself. And Mia can sense when a dark cloud of apprehension has settled over him, and she fusses, which makes him more panicky. Sometimes he thinks he loves her in too abstract a way, like she's art he made and not his flesh and blood. He’s forgotten what it was like to nonchalantly help with his sisters, he's forgotten that simple, contended ease.

Louis is incredible at all of it, which makes Zayn want to volunteer even less. Why should he even bother when Louis is hovering and always eyeing him, waiting to step in and take over? But yeah, fine, why shouldn't he take over? He's the one who’s better with her, who she fusses less with, who handles babies with the same practiced skill as he handles a football. So Zayn withdraws, lingers at the studio. At work, in his daytime fantasies, they're a happy young little family. Then he goes home and the baby is so much work, always needing something, and Louis is tired and faraway and hard to read.

Zayn feels different since she came, too. His head is foggier, he's crankier. It's harder to get out of bed in the morning. Even when Louis is the one who gets up with her, her cries wake him, and he lies there in the dark tangled in the sweaty sheets, discombobulated and annoyed. And guilty for feeling annoyed. And anxious that she's crying too much and there's something wrong with her. And so on.

His agent is going on about copyrights when he gets a snap from Louis. It’s a video of Lottie playing peekaboo with the baby, who is lying on her back in the grassy yard, staring at her aunt in numb, chubby-cheeked wonderment. Bo is darting around behind them with a shoe clutched in his mouth; Niall is chasing after him.

 _Too young for the peekaboo concept i reckon_ , is Louis’ caption.

Zayn wishes he was home. He misses Louis. Even when he's right beside him, he misses him. They'd been fumbling their way back into their old dynamic with fits and starts, but then the baby came and threw them both off, and now it's like they’ve paused that so they can focus on her.

He gets angry sometimes that Louis can't seem to just be in love with him. He hates Louis’ stubbornness, the way he sets his jaw about certain things and then can't budge. Zayn lavishes him with sex, presents, attention, compliments, but he still seems to be constantly probing Zayn for disloyalty, sticking his little fingers into all of Zayn's seams, digging around for crumbs of anger and frustration. Or out and out trying to provoke it, so he can point and say, _I knew it. I knew you found me tiresome._

Zayn does find him tiresome, sometimes. But Zayn finds a lot of things about his life tiresome; fame, most famous people, being asked the same questions over and over, never being left alone. And he loves Louis with a raw and needy intensity. He wants to be his favorite.

There's no way to love him and not feel insecure about it; Louis needs more, always more. There is always the overhanging threat that he'll find it somewhere else. And there's always going to be someone out there willing to try.

 

*

 

Niall is long gone before Zayn gets home. Louis hears him banging around in the kitchen before he comes into the sitting room with an apple and a knife, then sets them both on the table and picks the baby up, cooing to her.

Louis puts his phone down. “How was work?”

“Alright,” Zayn says. “Just doing all them little last-minute things.”

Louis nods. He doesn't like that his album is coming out April 25. It feels like a twisting of the knife, but they try not to talk about all that.

“Right, the boring stuff,” he says.

“It's not too bad,” Zayn murmurs, his dark eyes flicking over their baby’s face. He looks tired, but content. “Just antsy for the record to come out already. C’mere.”

Louis crawls toward him on the sofa, and Zayn wraps an arm around him and ruffles his hair.

“You eat today?” he says.

Louis zeroes in on the empty Corona on the table, then becomes aware of his growling stomach. “No,” he admits. “You?”

Zayn laughs softly. “No,” he says. “Got too busy. Why haven’t you?”

“Been busy too,” Louis says. He knows Zayn didn’t mean to imply he hasn’t been, but he feels a little defensive about how much time he spends at home now. “Had Niall over, and baby had to get her two-month jabs this morning.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot,” Zayn says, rubbing at his eye with the back of one tattooed hand. “I would’ve come.”

“It’s fine, you didn’t miss anythin’.” Louis chucks Mia on the chin. “Didn’t even cry.”

“She didn’t?” Zayn says, beaming at her. She burbles. “Brave girl. She good otherwise?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Her pediatrician is a nice young bloke, Dr. Emory, with a round face and dimpled cheeks. He's gifted at making Mia smile. She’s only just started to have real, genuine smiles.

Louis thinks she looks like Zayn when she smiles, which makes his chest hurt for some reason. Maybe because Zayn doesn’t smile quite as freely as he used to.

He’s smiling now, though, gazing at the baby.

“Maybe ring Chef Mo,” Louis says. “See if he can pop over and make us some dinner.”

“Ahh, brilliant,” Zayn says, settling back against the couch with the baby on his chest.

He digs his phone out of the pocket of his tight jeans and scrolls through his contacts. Louis is close enough that he can hear the rings. He rests his head on Zayn's shoulder, gazing at their baby.

Her eyes are still blue, a darker blue than Louis’, that baby blue that still has time to either lighten to match his or darken to match Zayn’s. Or maybe she'll get someone else's entirely.

They’re definitely shaped like his, though. She gazes up at him, her entire hand stuffed mostly in her mouth. Louis pulls it out -- she fusses and whimpers -- and replaces it with a dummy that was in his shirt pocket.

“Hey Mo,” Zayn says into the phone. “Aye, just wanted to see if you could come make us dinner… yeah? Cool, see you round seven.”

He sets his phone down on the couch. Louis stares at it. It's a new one, with a seven-digit code and thumbprint lock. He found this out last year, when he was pregnant, insecure and crazy, and got nervous about how Zayn is always trolling through his Twitter DMs, which are constantly full of nudes. He used to know his code, back when it was four digits. He’d go on Zayn’s phone and text Perrie really stupid shit, like, _AYYY MIZZUS SEND A TIT PIC XXXXXX_ , and she’d text back _I know it’s you tommo!_ and send him a picture of Jade making some horrible gargoyle face.

“I don't really look at them anymore,” Zayn said to him when he brought the DMs up back in October. “D’you look at yours?”

“No, I never did,” Louis said. “But you did, and you get loads more than I do. So I don't believe you.”

“Nudes are whatever,” Zayn said. “If I’m gonna look at naked people I don’t know, I’d just watch porn, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis said in disbelief, and dropped it.

He wishes at times that he could talk to Perrie about this, but how ridiculously cruel would that be? He called her and apologized back in August, trying to be a gentleman or at least a good friend. She said in a very small voice that it was okay, she didn't blame him for doing what’s right for his kid, but that she'd prefer not to hear from him for a while. Which he agreed to, with a lump in his throat.

Mia makes a little noise of unhappiness, and Zayn picks her up, lifting her into the air and gently bouncing her.

“What d’you want for dinner?” Zayn says in a baby voice, but clearly talking to Louis.

“Fish,” Louis says.

“Fish and chips?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Veesh and cheeps?” Zayn says, in a funny and completely unplaceable accent. “Beesh and jeeps?”

Mia giggles, and they both stare at her in shining-eyed excitement.

“Beeshy-beeps?” Louis says to her.

“Beeshy-baps?”

Mia smiles toothlessly.

“Beeps and baps?” Zayn says. 

Louis laughs and coughs a bit.

“What... she likes it,” he says, grinning wickedly.

“She’s gonna get kicked straight out of preschool,” Louis says, grinning. “ _Oi miss teacha, where’s ya baps_?”

“See, but they won’t even know what that means ‘round here, will they,” Zayn says, perching her little feet on his thighs so she’s standing. “They’ll be like…” He adopts an affected American accent. “‘ _Ohh, how chaaaarming_.’”

Louis pauses. “Right,” he says. “Didn’t even think about that.”

Zayn glances at him. “‘Less you want to put her in a boarding school back home, so she doesn't lose the culture."

"Nah."

"And miss out on such valuable character-building experiences as hearing racist abuse on the Tube and getting killed in a barfight in Liverpool."

Louis laughs. “No, no no." He reaches out and tickles Mia, who giggles some more.

 

LOS ANGELES, MARCH 23, 2016

Louis is out, for once, sitting at a rooftop bar with Oli, his friend Marcus, and a few other people. It's a nice balmy morning, a little breezy. The treetops are swaying with it. They've all had a few drinks for brunch, he's smoking, and the crowd is thin enough that they got the bartender to agree to put the Man U game on. It’s nice. He's even managing not to feel guilty about leaving the baby with the nanny.

And then his phone rings. It's Zayn, which makes him anxious, because Zayn never calls, he always texts.

“Hey,” he says, picking up fast and sliding off his stool, twiddling his cigarette in his fingers. His friends give him questioning eyebrows as he walks away. “What's up?”

“I'm sittin’ outside KIIS-FM,” Zayn says.

“Okay,” Louis says, and he leans his elbows on the rooftop half-wall, looking out over the city. “Aye, right, you had Seacrest today.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. Louis can tell he's smoking, too. He hears him exhale. “I don't wanna go in.”

Louis laughs and ashes. “Why not?”

“I dunno.”

He sounds funny; antsy. Louis squints and doesn't say anything.

“I just don't,” Zayn says, sort of wildly.

“Mate, it's a bit late to cancel.”

“No it's not. I can cancel whatever I like, whenever I want to.”

“Alright,” Louis says, nonplussed. “Cancel, but he might not have you back again. And it's your last chance before the record drops.”

“I don't care,” Zayn snaps.

“Then just go home, love.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, sounding relieved, like all he wanted was Louis’ permission.

Louis is quiet for a long moment. “You been drinking?” he says, off nothing more than a weird suspicion he's got.

“No. Why would I be?”

“Why don't you come over here?” Louis says. “We’re having a lads afternoon, watching the game. Mia’s with the nanny.”

He doesn't like the idea of Zayn being alone when he's weird like this. He feels like he did right before Zayn left the band, when he'd spot him getting all funny and silent and take him back to his room, bring him down onto the bed, whispering to him and rubbing at his cock through his pants. And then he'd come back. He always did. Until one day he didn't.

“Where at?”

“Opal. It's on La Cienega.”

“I'll be there.”

They say bye and hang up. Louis drums his fingers on the gritty concrete.

 

*

 

Zayn gets there in plenty of time, and then he sits out front in his car, just like he did at the radio station. He doesn't know what the fuck is wrong with him. The valet keeps knocking on his window, and he keeps waving him off, until he can't take it anymore and gets out, tossing a few crumpled twenties to him.

He lied to Louis. He did drink before he left the house that morning. Only a beer and a half, he was fine to drive, but it was supposed to make him feel less anxious and only made him feel worse -- like he'd just gotten bad news, or something, this kind of heady displacement. He doesn't feel entirely in his body.

Zayn passes the bouncer, who recognizes him on sight and gives him a nod, then slumps against the wall of the stairwell leading up to the bar. He digs in his pocket for the half a Xanax he left in there a few days ago, and swallows it dry.

He can feel his work phone continuing to go off. It's Seacrest’s PA. They probably think something happened to him. Zayn didn't even bother trying to explain, he just drove away.

Sean sidles up next to him in the hallway -- or does the best a massive bodyguard can to sidle. “Hey,” he says. “Going up or no?”

“I am,” Zayn mutters. He should text Syena, ask her call Seacrest and cover for him. He wonders if he was papped just now, which would make it hard to invent an excuse. _Zayn suddenly took ill… so he had to run to a bar to recuperate._

The door to the stairwell opens, flooding in light, and he hears Louis’ little voice go, “Hey.”

Zayn looks up. He's immediately relieved to see him, even just the silhouette of him.

Louis comes down the rest of the stairs and greets him with a kiss. Zayn wraps his arms around his waist, reassured by the warmth of him under his thin t-shirt, and how he can cover the whole of the small of Louis' back with his hands.

“You look so grim,” Louis says. His eyes dance as he smiles. “Hey Sean.”

“Hi Louis.”

“How’ve you been?”

“Fine, yourself?”

“Fantastic. So… why couldn't you do the interview?” Louis says to Zayn, cupping his jaw in one hand, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

Zayn doesn't say anything. His voice keeps sticking in his throat like oatmeal on the side of a bowl. He gives him a little shrug.

“Alright, well.” Louis shrugs back. “Come watch the game with us?”

Zayn slings an arm around his shoulders and they head to the bar, Sean hovering behind them.

 

*

 

Back at the house, Zayn stands in their dome-ceilinged entry hall watching as Louis takes the baby back from the nanny, beaming at her and kissing her all over her little face. He still feels detached and strange, like he's watching a movie. The Xanax didn't help, especially since he had a few more drinks at the bar.

“How was she?” Louis says to Ingrid, who smiles widely and chirps back, “A little angel! Perfect, perfect angel.”

Zayn wanders upstairs when Louis goes to feed her, heading into the master bedroom and lying down on their bed, staring out the window. He can see most of their backyard, and then the sprawling Beverly Hills, going on and on. His fucking phone keeps dinging in his pocket. He wants to throw it out a window.

Louis comes into the room and creeps up behind him, kissing him on the shoulder blade. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he mutters, rolling over. “Where's baby?”

“Put ‘er down for a nap,” Louis says, and kisses him on the mouth.

Zayn starts to undress, peeling his jeans off. He buries his face against Louis’ warm, slender chest, feeling the thump of his heartbeat, and runs his finger along his back.

“I’m still a bit sore down there in general,” Louis whispers. “The stitches…”

“‘S’fine,” Zayn mutters. “You can do me...”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I just wanna feel you.”

He lies back against the massive pile of pillows at the head of their California king and watches as Louis twists out of his joggers and then starts to jerk himself off. Zayn closes his eyes. His head buzzes. After a few minutes of soft sounds from Louis, he feels a finger nudge at his arsehole, and he rolls over onto his stomach. His eyes grow hot, and he squeezes them shut tighter, clutching at the sheets so he’ll stop feeling like he’s about to float away. His head is so limp.

“Not fallin’ asleep on me, are you?” Louis murmurs to him as he works his fingers, sounding equal parts amused and concerned.

“No,” Zayn groans. “Just put it in.”

“Alright…”

It burns, but at least that’s real, and something he can focus on. And then Louis is rubbing up against his prostate and he’s sighing and biting at his lip.

Louis rolls him over after a minute or so of thrusting, then repositions and starts snogging him. Zayn lazily moves his hips in time with Louis’, sliding his hands over his waist to grab at his arse.

“Mate,” Louis whispers breathily to him. “Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” Zayn whispers back. He slides his hand up his back and grabs him hard by the hair. Louis inhales sharply and starts fucking him harder, grinding his hips down. Zayn lets his eyes close again.

When Louis comes, he stays inside him for a while, stroking his hair and kissing him. Zayn doesn’t react. He likes the doting attention, and the warm weight of Louis’ little body sprawled out over his chest and between his legs. And he likes Louis’ cock in him. 

“Babe,” Louis says. He has that needling, needy tone in his voice: _I want your full attention._ Zayn doesn’t know how to tell him he can’t give it. His brain is loping along at a snail’s pace; he can’t face the world today.

“I just need some sleep,” he mutters. He doesn’t even know if it’s true, but it’s worth a shot.

Louis whispers, “Okay,” then kisses him one more time and pulls out. Zayn lies there limply as Louis pulls the covers up over him, draws the blinds, and shuts the lights off.

There’s the soft swoosh of the bathroom door opening, then running water, then Louis wringing out a washcloth. Another swoosh. Louis’ sock feet stepping lightly in the hallway. A door down the hall opening, the baby making fussy noises, and Louis cooing to her. His feet going down the stairs. Bo’s feet going up the stairs. The bedroom door creaking open. The dog’s wagging tail hitting the carpet, then the weight of him landing on the bed.

Zayn reluctantly opens his eyes and looks at Bo, who’s creeping cautiously toward him, tail still wagging.

“‘M not very good company,” he says.

Bo curls up next to his hip anyway.

*

 

“I’m really sorry about this,” Louis says into the phone, one hand on his hip as he walks around the backyard.

Oli glances up. He’s sitting in a sunny patch of grass, tickling Mia, who’s lying next to him and giggling uproariously.

“I’m just a little confused, man,” Ryan says. “We did book this a couple months in advance.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I dunno, I reckon he might be coming down with the flu or something. He went to bed as soon as he got home. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, mate.”

“Hey, I’m not the one with an album coming out,” Ryan says.

“Don’t hold this against him,” Louis says. “He’ll want to reschedule.”

“Yeah, have his agent call my people, I guess. We can discuss it. No promises.”

“No, course not.”

“Hey, it’s good to hear from you, Louis,” Ryan adds, in a brighter tone. “You’re doing alright?”

“Great, yeah.”

“How’s the baby?”

Louis looks over at Mia and smiles. “She’s perfect.”

“Glad to hear it. Seeya.”

Louis rings off and comes over to sit next to them. He strokes Mia’s dark-haired head; she stares up at him with curious eyes.

“That didn’t sound too great,” Oli says.

Louis shrugs, then lies down in the grass, his phone resting on his stomach. It’s gotten to be a really gorgeous day.

“What’s up with Zayn, d’you think?”

Louis sighs. “I’m starting to worry that I’ve got no fuckin’ idea.”

Oli is quiet for a while. “Can you get that post-partum thing, if you aren't the one who had the baby?”

Louis sits up. “Oh,” he says. “Shit. I dunno. I'd never thought of that before.”

“It's just he's been acting funny for a while, hasn't he,” Oli says, lifting an eyebrow.

“But he was like this --” Louis swallows. “Before me and him even started hooking up. It was ‘cos of the band. He felt trapped.”

“But it was while you were pregnant, too,” Oli says. “After he left.”

Mia fusses, and Louis leans over and picks her up, holding her to him. He kisses her little head, soft with its baby hairs. She's rubbed a bald spot in the back from looking around while she's in her crib.

“Maybe he feels trapped again,” Louis says stiffly. “First by the band, then by me and the baby.”

Oli looks terribly guilty, then. “Oh, hey, Tommo, I didn't mean _that_.”

Louis shrugs.

Oli slides his Ray Bans down over his eyes, probably so he can look over at him. Louis has the sun behind him. “He's got some issues, we know that.”

“I know. He doesn't even talk about Pez,” Louis says. “It was just for show at the end, but they were together, what, four years? Were engaged? And he just tells her oops, got Louis pregnant, gonna give that a go, bye. I think I've apologized to her more about it than he has.”

“I think you're better adjusted than him.”

“Am I? I've fucked me life up, too.”

“Nah, nah.”

“Well, band’s basically broken up, and it's my fuckin’ fault.” He swallows over the lump in his throat. “Even if I wanted to do solo shit while I'm waiting for all this to blow over and Harry to get this shit out of his system, I'm coming at a disadvantage. And Simon’s fucked me over with the judging gig I thought was a sure thing. I just -- I never thought I'd end up with Zayn."

"I didn't think you would, either."

"I've started to feel like -- this sort of weird, defiant -- if the band's not getting back together anytime soon, and if I don't make my own career, go solo, then I'm just gonna get swallowed up by Zayn, y'know? Like I'm gonna stop being Louis. I'm afraid I'm gonna disappear."

Mia lifts her head and paws at his face with a chubby little hand, sticking an errant finger in his nostril. He laughs and gently pushes her arm away.

“I don't mean to make it sound so dire,” he continues. 

"No, I get it,” Oli says, resting his chin on his fist. "He's got a big ego, Zayn. And you sort of already had to swallow your pride when you went back to him. It makes sense you want your own identity."

“Yeah.” Louis hitches the baby up in his arms. “Exactly.”

“I didn't know Harry wanted a solo career that bad,” Oli says.

Louis shrugs. “We never talked about it. Course, that doesn't mean anything.”

“Yeah.”

“I sort of thought he wanted it to focus on acting,” Louis says. “I dunno. We'd been talking about it for a while, like as a break, and I didn't want it, but then I got pregnant. And then… y’know. I had to leave the tour, which narked him off, and I got with Zayn, which made it worse. And I haven't talked to him in months.”

He keeps his tone falsely light, so the baby doesn’t get upset.

“Doesn't seem exactly fair,” Oli says.

“He was gutted when he found out about the kid,” Louis mutters. “And that was back when he thought me and Zayn were done for good. I think he still loves him, a bit.”

“That's even _less_ fair, mate.”

“I'm not the fairness police,” Louis says, cracking a smile. “Anyway, enough about me, tell me about this bird you've been seeing.”

“Oh, _Jena_ ,” Oli says. “Very fit. Works at a Sunset Tan.”

“Yeah?” Louis lies down again in the grass, holding Mia to his chest. “Details, please, details…”

 

RUNYON CANYON, APRIL 1, 2016

“Tilt your chin, like, a little to the left, Zayn,” Austin says. “And Amy, if you could bring the diffuser a little closer…”

Amy, who's crouching in the dirt road they're doing the shoot on, gets to her feet and scurries toward Zayn.

“Not that close!”

She grimaces in apology and scurries back a half-step, holding the white disk of the diffuser back up so it bounces the light into Zayn’s face.

Zayn stands stock-still. He looks haughtily bored, and more beautiful than normal; they've got concealer and brow tint on him, and his hair’s slick with product that holds it frozen in glossy waves. He has one foot propped up on a box, and he's framed by palo verde trees.

Louis stands next to Syena, wearing a cranky, sleepy Mia in a sling. He didn't have any intention of coming along on this shoot, but as Zayn was leaving he was hit with a gut punch of loneliness and boredom and asked to come along.

He shouldn't have. He forgot how photoshoots are, especially when it’s not the five of them in a puppy pile, giggling and taking the piss. It's just Zayn, standing alone in a remote hiking path.

Syena is clutching both her own Blackberry and Zayn's iPhone in her hand, watching him with a tense jaw.

“Everything alright?” Louis says quietly to her.

“Reset,” Austin calls, and everyone starts shuffling around. Zayn lets out a breath and rubs at one of his eyes.

“Yeah,” Syena says, shifting her weight anxiously from foot to foot. “Just a lot of stuff going on today, and this is taking _forever…_ He has to be downtown at one so he can approve a storyboard for one of the videos, and then he has a radio interview.”

“He’ll remind Austin, if it goes too long.”

“That's the thing, I don't know if he remembers,” she whispers. “He's been really scattered lately. Sorry, I don't mean to --”

“No,” Louis mutters. “I know what you mean. But we do have a newborn baby.”

“True,” she says. “I keep forgetting.”

“Lately I've been tryin’ to be the only one getting up with her at night, but he’s still proper sleep deprived.”

“I think it's album stress, too. He's never done it on his own before, and he's he first one of you, you know?” She shrugs. “If it flops…”

“His numbers look good so far,” Louis says. “He had a load of presales. He'll be fine.”

“Yeah, but I think he wants to do, y’know, Beyoncé numbers.”

Louis snorts. “Even Harry ain't Beyoncé.”

Mia starts to fuss, and then lets out a wail that catches everyone’s attention. Austin turns around with an unhappy glare; Louis grimaces and bounces from foot to foot, shushing her. Zayn looks longingly over at them.

“Oi, your daughter’s bein’ disruptive,” Louis calls to him.

“Oh, she's _my_ daughter,” Zayn calls back, cracking a smile.

“When she's misbehaved,” Louis says.

“‘Cos you're so well-behaved?”

“No idea what you're talking about, mate.”

They keep smiling at each other. Louis gets a rush of butterflies in his stomach and chest, the kind he hasn't in ages, and his face gets warm. He forgot how fun it was to flirt with Zayn in front of people. They used to get a great kick out of playing footsie during meetings, although once in a while one of them would get Niall by accident.

“Zayn,” Austin snaps. “Chin up.”

“Alright, yeah,” Zayn says, turning back to the camera and giving it a smoldering, eyes-narrowed look. Another one of Austin’s assistants hurries out of the shadows to tousle his hair, then darts back.

“Stupid good-looking, isn't he,” Louis says.

Syena smiles. “You just noticed?”

“Yeah, no.” He indicates the baby, and she laughs. “It's just I’ve been around him so much for so long, I sort of forget sometimes.”

“Me too, actually.” She purses her lips.

Louis holds his hand over her eyes. “Don't you start remembering.”

Cackling, she bats his hand away.

 

*

 

Zayn doesn't get home until past ten. Louis is sitting on the patio, smoking and scrolling through Twitter with the baby monitor perched on the table.

Zayn comes up behind him and covers Louis’ eyes with his hands. “Guess who,” he says in a gravelly voice.

“Either me boyfriend or a very friendly robber,” Louis says.

Zayn laughs and kisses him on the cheek. Louis leans back, his head against Zayn's chest, and looks up at him. “How was the interview?”

“Lousy,” Zayn says. “They asked the stupidest fuckin’ questions. Almost nothing about the music. Budge up.”

Louis scoots over on the bench, and Zayn perches next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“Baby down?”

“Seems to be.”

They fall quiet, listening to the crickets. Louis finishes his cigarette and flicks the butt onto the table.

“Thanks for coming today,” Zayn says. “It's nice to have you along for that shit. Feels like old times.”

“Yeah, yeah, course.”

Zayn rubs at his goatee. “You could come along more,” he says.

Louis glances over at him. “To your promo things?”

“‘Less it’d bore you.”

“Nah,” Louis says. “Not more boring then being here with the baby all day.”

Zayn winces. “Sorry.”

“I meant that less passive aggressive than it sounded,” Louis says. “You’ve got to go to work, obviously. It's just I feel sort of weird hanging ‘round at your stuff.”

“Why?” Zayn says. “We're together. An’ I like it when you bring Yasmeen along.”

“Just.” Louis inhales. “Sort of makes me miss doing band shit, or just… anythin’ with music in general. Just standing off to the side with the kid… y’know.”

Zayn nuzzles him. “You can do whatever you want wiv my career,” he murmurs. “Manage me, negotiate for me, collab with me, whatever. You don't have to stand off to the side.”

“Seriously? Mate, I'm not qualified to like, handle you --”

“Why not?” Zayn moves forward some, so he can look at Louis. “Look, I’m just -- everybody's fillin’ me ‘ead with shit, all the time, and it's so hard, like, who do I even trust? And I just freeze up sometimes, like, ‘cos it's so confusing. But I trust _you_.”

Louis sighs.

“No, Louis, c’mon.” Zayn picks up Louis’ pack of Lights and slips one out; he digs his lighter out of his pocket and hands it over. “You're so smart. Clever. Y’know? An’ you'd tell me when I'm being stupid.”

Zayn cups his hands against the wind to get a light. Louis watches him in the dark as he smokes, his cheeks going hollow.

“Would I?”

“Knew what Shahid was,” Zayn mutters. “Took me ages to get that one sorted out. That ‘e was just using me.”

Louis feels sick at the mere mention of him. “That was more personal than professional,” he mutters.

“Yeah, but you're a good judge of character.”

Louis opens his mouth to respond, and Zayn quickly says, “Don't say some self-deprecating shit, alright?”

Louis closes his mouth.

The baby starts to fuss on the monitor, and they go quiet. The fussing turns into full-out wails, and Louis gets up.

Zayn follows him inside, sliding the heavy glass door shut behind him. “Tommo,” he calls. “I'm serious about this.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Louis says, fetching Mia from the crib in the living room. It's her _I'm wet_ cry, he can tell, so he goes off in search of a nappy.

“Lemme do it,” Zayn says, when he gets back. He holds his hand out.

“I'm faster,” Louis says.

Zayn fixes him with a look. Louis hands it over, then hovers, watching his handiwork.

“Plenty of people have their partners as, like, business partners,” Zayn says. “June and Johnny Cash.”

“Don't use too much powder, she doesn't like it.”

“Sonny and Cher. Paul and Linda.”

“Any examples from this century?”

“Sonic Youth?” Zayn glances up at him as he rebuttons Mia. “Arcade Fire. White Stripes.”

“Alright,” Louis relents.

“June wrote a lot of Johnny’s shit,” Zayn says.

“If I'm writing shit, it's gonna be for me, or for One Direction,” Louis says, more sharply than he means to.

Zayn stands up, holding the baby and gently bouncing her. “Just an example,” he says, sounding exasperated. “You're so fucking stubborn.”

“I'm not gonna do a bunch of shit behind the scenes for you, for no credit, for _your_ solo career!”

“We’re partners!” Zayn shouts back. Mia makes an unhappy noise, and he softens and murmurs to her, then settles her back down in the crib. “It's for both of us!”

“But funny, it's your face and name on the record, innit,” Louis snaps. “You know I'm tired of getting you four’s fuckin’ leftovers. I'm not gonna stay doing that for you after you left the band, just ‘cos you love me!”

“You won't help me keep away from manipulative freaks who wanna bleed me dry ‘cos of your own fuckin’ insecurities?” Zayn crosses the room and sits on the edge of the couch, his face dark with anger. “That's nice, yeah. And thanks for reminding me you don't love me.”

“I do, Zayn! I always have!”

“You're not _in_ love!”

“I don't know yet!” Louis screams at him. “Give me time!”

“All I give you is time!”

“It hasn't even been a year!”

“ _How many years d’you need!”_ Zayn hollers.

The baby starts to cry again, and Louis lifts her up and holds her protectively to him, kissing her on the head.

“We can't do this,” he whispers to Zayn, who has the good grace to look guilty.

“Louis,” Zayn says, and he sits forward with his head in his hands. The baby’s cries peter out. Louis shifts her in his arms, craving a cigarette. “I didn't mean… I don't want you just doing a bunch of thankless shit for me. That came out wrong. I don't always say what I mean, like. I'd love to collaborate with you. As artists.”

Louis softens, feeling guilty himself. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that. I just, I dunno. I don't feel creative much, lately.”

“I didn't mean tomorrow.” Zayn drops one hand and cracks a smile at him.

Louis smiles back. “Then can we just table this an’ call it a night?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Love to.”

 

LOS ANGELES, MAY 10, 2016

“What d’you want, Tommo?” Niall says, pushing his hair back as he bends at the waist to peer into his fridge.

Louis leans on the island, which is made of some kind of upcycled driftwood, all polished up.

“I’m not hungry,” he says, which is a lie. He has a cigarette in his pocket that he plans to smoke before they jump in the pool -- that way the scent’ll be gone by the time he gets home. He’s relying on it to kill his appetite. He’s still trying to whittle away the stubborn five pounds that’s clinging to his hips.

“Have a beer, at least,” Niall suggests.

“Alright.”

 

*

 

One beer turns into two beers. Louis lolls on a chaise in the woody shadows of the far end of Niall’s pool deck, watching as he tries to situate himself comfortably on a lounge chair pool floatie. He ends up falling into the water, swearing, and comes over to lie next to Louis.

For most of the afternoon they were hanging out with their friends Doug and Rex, but those two left to grab dinner, and now Louis gets the distinct impression there’s something Niall wants to talk to him about. But he doesn’t sense it’s good news, so they keep dancing around it.

“You didn’t bring the baby,” Niall points out as they stare up at the mostly cloudless sky.

“Nah, sorry,” Louis says. “She’s with the nanny.”

Niall shakes his arm. His watch must have gotten wet. “Where’s our boy?”

Louis smiles. “Our boy?”

“Ah, whatever you’d call him.”

“He’s been off filming a video this week.”

Niall’s quiet. “Remember filmin’ _Live While We’re Young_?”

“God, yeah. That was fun.”

“So fuckin’ hot the whole time.” Niall sounds wistful. “I really liked doin’ _Drag Me Down_.”

“You just like astronauts.”

“I really fuckin’ do, lad.”

“I just remember bein’ sick that whole day,” Louis says. “Think I threw up somewhere in that hangar.”

“Shit, I forgot you were pregnant then.”

“Yeah, we got it in the can right before I left tour.”

Niall goes quiet again, then rubs at his eye. “I miss it,” he admits.

Louis laughs. “You're like those blokes who get out of prison and want to go straight back in.”

Niall laughs, too. “Maybe.”

“Ah, I miss it too.” Louis swallows and rolls over onto his side, eyeing Niall, who drops his hand and looks over at him.

“Anything you want to tell me?” he says. “Updates?”

Niall tucks his lips in and nods, then sits up on his elbow and takes a long sip of his beer.

“Payno’s datin’ somebody,” he says, finally, and wipes the foam off his lip.

Louis’ heart drops, and his gut lurches. “Okay.”

“Cecilia Marino,” Niall says. “Ring a bell?”

“No.”

“Figured it wouldn't. She’s on Broadway. I think they met when he went out to New York to meet with CR, before he signed with ‘em?”

Niall is doing that thing he does, babbling anxiously to fill the air with sound. Louis tries to look less upset.

“Cecilia,” he says. “Like Simon and Garfunkel?”

Niall grins. “Yeah. _Cecil-ia_ …”

“ _You’re breakin’ my heart_ … She a looker?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty.” Niall shrugs. “You know Liam.”

“I do know Liam,” Louis mutters, picking at his beer bottle label. It’s a fancy local IPA.

“Anyway, he’s been in New York a lot ‘cos ‘o that.”

“Right.”

“Look,” Niall says, gently. “You moved on.”

Louis breathes out a lungful of air, then nimbly gets to his feet, walking away.

“Hey,” Niall calls to him, rolling over onto his stomach. “Tommo, I’m just saying.”

Louis teeters on the edge of the pool, staring at the crystalline blue water rippling under him. Without thinking too hard about it, he jumps in. He lingers for a moment underwater, enjoying the rush of adrenaline, then rises to the surface, his clothes soaked and billowing around him.

Niall is standing at the edge in his blue swim trunks, looking worried. His damp hair is like a sandy halo in the bright midday sun.

“I was just sayin’,” he repeats.

“I know,” Louis chirps, then tugs at his the hem of his trunks. “Come in or I’ll pull you in.”

 

*

 

Louis has another two beers before he heads out, and has to call Daniel to pick him up. He stares at the orangey sunset out the car window for a while, then says, “When was Zayn on set ‘til?”

“I think nine, right?” Daniel replies.

“I wanna go visit him.”

“Oh, alright. Lemme do a U-ie.”

“I'll ring the nanny.” He tipsily fumbles for his phone.

 

*

 

The music video is a party they're filming on a large set downtown. Louis waves to a couple label people he recognizes as he walks across the lot and into the hangar, then weaves his way through a crowd of bored-looking models and guys that look like Zayn called central casting and ordered a small army of fuckboys.

Louis spots Syena standing under a klieg light typing away on a Blackberry and heads over to her; she glances up and smiles.

“Hi!” she says. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Looking for our boy,” he says, smiling back.

“He's in his trailer.” She points behind herself while still typing with one hand. “We’re on hold for a few, you've got about fifteen with him.”

“That's all I need.”

Louis walks loose-hipped over to Zayn’s trailer, swaying a bit, bounces up the steps and gives three hard raps.

“Wot,” Zayn calls, sounding annoyed and bored.

“Zap,” Louis calls back.

There's a pause, then Zayn swings the door open, beaming.

“Hey-y,” he says, wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist and pulling him in close.

They kiss, their beards rubbing together. Louis’ gut stirs with a spasm of arousal.

“I was hoping,” he whispers, “you might have time for a quickie?”

“Always,” Zayn says throatily, pulling him into the trailer and yanking the door shut behind him.

Louis digs the condom he brought along out of his pocket and starts to tear it open. Zayn yanks his jeans down off his arse and hoists him up onto the top of his mini fridge, kissing all over his neck.

“Hol’ on, hol’ on, me arse is gonna be cold,” Louis says, laughing against his throat.

Zayn laughs too and heaves him over onto the desk. Louis undoes Zayn’s fly, pulling his jeans down as he sucks at his neck.

“Hey, hey,” Zayn murmurs, “don't, I gotta shoot some more --”

“Fits with the look you've got going,” Louis says, biting gently at him.

“Yeah, but like, continuity --”

“Whatever, whatever,” he says, groping at Zayn’s half-hard cock, “just fuck me --”

Zayn nods, and their foreheads are so close he musses Louis’ fringe with the motion. Louis watches as he rolls the condom onto himself, gripping his shoulder.

Zayn digs his nails into Louis’ thigh as he lifts it up so he can slide inside him. Louis gasps, grabbing him by the hair. He can hear a few members of the crew chatting outside the trailer; he screws up his eyes and tries to block it out, focusing instead on the burning pleasure and Zayn’s soft groans.

“Baby,” he moans, slipping an arm up Zayn's back and gripping at his shirt as Zayn rocks into him. “Fuck, fuck --”

Zayn squeezes a greedy handful of his arse in response. They fall quiet, just letting out soft moans and grunts and groans as the desk shakes underneath Louis.

Zayn comes with a soft sound and slows his hips, breathing hard. Louis exhales, blearily opening his eyes, gazing at Zayn’s lush eyelashes and flushed cheeks.

“Can you finish me off?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, kissing him. He ties off the condom and tosses it, then slips two fingers into Louis and crooks them, rubbing feverishly at him.

Louis moans and rakes his nails up Zayn’s back.

“Ahh, stop,” Zayn murmurs, “you're like a cat --”

“Mmm,” Louis purrs, scratching him harder.

Zayn sucks in air and starts fingering him harder; a muscle in Louis’ thigh tenses and he feels orgasm break over him, flooding him.

They stay frozen there for a moment, panting and clutching at each other. Louis feels soothed, at least for a moment; he feels wanted, and then when Zayn cups his face in his hands and kisses him on the forehead, he feels loved.

Then they come back into themselves and realize they're covered in Louis’ come. Zayn goes to fetch a flannel.

Someone knocks on the trailer door.

“Yo,” Zayn calls.

“It's Sy.”

“Oh, they ready for me?”

“Yep, ready whenever you are.”

Zayn comes over to Louis and starts to clean him up. Louis smiles dizzily up at him; Zayn smiles back.

“I'm a bit busy,” he calls back. “Just a mo.”

“Alright,” Syena calls, then after a beat: “Hi, Louis.”

“Hi Sy.”

Louis slips off the desk. Zayn catches him around the waist again, pulling him in.

“See you at home,” he murmurs.

Louis kisses him on the nose. “See you there.”

 

 

ZUMA BEACH, JUNE 2, 2016

“How's the water?” Zayn calls to Louis and James as they stagger out of the surf, squinting at them in the dusk light.

“Not too bad, honestly,” Louis says, shaking the water out of his hair and tossing his board aside.

“Fucking _freezing_ ,” James says, peeling himself out of his wetsuit and snatching his jacket out of the sand. “I think my bollocks sucked straight back up.”

“Straight back up into your pussy, James?” Steve says, and ducks James’ wetsuit as it sails at his head. Oli laughs.

“Could've told you,” Zayn says with a crooked grin, taking a sip of his beer. The fire they built is throwing flickering warmth on his skin, making him especially handsome; he's in that grey henley he knows Louis likes, and the spicy cologne he likes, too.

Louis meets his eyes as he slips out of his wetsuit. He lets his trunks slide down a little; Zayn’s eyes glitter.

“Hi,” Louis says, coming over to him.

“Hi,” Zayn says, and hands him his hoodie.

Louis knows they're going to have sex tonight, it's just a matter of when. He’s excited for it. Something new is tenderly budding between them; it isn't like the time in the trailer, when Louis was feeling vulnerable and needed reminding of who he belongs to, and it isn't like the few other times Zayn has fucked him since the baby came -- which have mostly been him rolling over and just letting Zayn go at him so they can both get some sleep.

No, this is different. Lou’s in town with her husband and insisted on taking Mia off their hands, so they spent all afternoon lying around the house, smoking weed and snogging all slow and romantic. Neither of them tried to push it further, like they normally would have. They're letting it build slow for once.

“Were there girls coming round tonight?” James says, glancing over at them.

Zayn checks his watch. “It's only seven, bruv. Yeah, we got girls coming, ‘long with everyone else.”

“And Jena’s bringing her coworker when they get off,” Oli says.

“What's she look like?” says Steve.

Oli pulls up Instagram and shows him.

“Ah, yeah,” Steve says. “I'll fight you for this one, James.”

James glances over at him, lifting an eyebrow. “Uh, go ahead, mate,” he says dubiously.

“Yeah, here's the thing, pretty boy,” Steve says. “You're _too_ pretty. You're used to being handed puss, you've got no game. Once it gets dark out here, it’s my domain.”

Shaking his head in amusement, Louis sidles closer to Zayn, who wraps an arm around him.

Louis drops his head onto his shoulder and lets out a sigh. The sun is going down over the ocean, and the entire beach is glowing in dusky pinks and lavenders.

“That's literally not true,” James says, smoothing his wet hair back off his forehead. “That's not -- that's not how it works for men. Straight up.”

“Louis,” Steve says, inclining his head, “how much game has Zayn got? Or does he just sort of stare at people and wait for them to approach?”

“Never done that in me life,” Zayn says, resting his cheek against the top of Louis’ head.

“Um,” Louis says, laughing. “Yeah, you have.”

“ _What_? When?”

“In clubs? Sometimes you'd just kind of sit there and stare at people and pout, like…”

“Only if I was too high to get up,” Zayn protests.

“Uh-huh…”

“Did he have game when he picked you up?” James says, looking excited at the prospect of dirt on Zayn.

Louis sits up and digs in his hoodie pocket for the joint and lighter he left in there. “I picked _him_ up,” he says with a grin, and lights it.

“Ohh!” Steve and James low in unison. Zayn rolls his eyes, smiling.

“We’d agreed as a band we shouldn't sleep together,” he says. “I was honorin’ that. I could've had Louis anytime I wanted.”

"Why, 'cos I'm so easy?" Louis retorts. 

"No, 'cos I could tell you wanted me," Zayn says, and reaches down to pinch his arse.

This is annoying because of the casual arrogance he says it with, but he is, in fact, correct. 

“You know, I did have a girlfriend most of that time,” Louis says, slapping his hand away.

“If you were _‘honoring’_ that rule,” Steve says, with generous air quotes, “why not tell him off?”

“‘Cos Louis was the ringleader,” Zayn says. “Whatever he did, we followed his lead.”

Louis grins at him. “Right, that's why.”

Zayn smiles back and nudges him with a shoulder.

 

*

 

Their stretch of the beach slowly fills up with people as the night goes on; their friends arrive, bringing their own friends, and Jena ends up bringing along what looks to be the entire staff of that particular Sunset Tan franchise.

Louis and Zayn stay camped out next to the fire with a blanket wrapped around their shoulders, talking to whoever comes by and spending the rest of the time passing three blunts and and a bottle of Stoli back and forth.

By midnight they're so twisted that Louis feels like the entire world is spinning -- the inky sky swirls with the unfathomably black ocean as it crashes and crashes just a few meters away. They mostly lie there snogging wetly, their teeth clicking together, warm bodies pressed close together as the chilly beach air blows over them. They're surrounded by shouting and laughter, and someone near the fire’s started plucking at their acoustic guitar. _Plink, plink._ Whoever it is, they can't play for shit.

“I want you so bad,” Louis moans softly in Zayn's ear, and Zayn groans and rubs his stiff cock against Louis’ thigh.

Louis wraps an arm around Zayn's neck, stroking the sleek thickness of his hair, scratching his scalp with his nails. Zayn shudders against him.

There's footsteps in the sand next to them, and then: “Yo,” Oli says, and kicks Louis gently in the arse.

They dizzily lift the blanket and peek up at him.

“Oi oi,” Louis says throatily, slapping him on the calf in retaliation.

“Hey lovebirds,” Oli says, grinning. “We’re moving the party to that club Shaun just bought. You coming?”

“I can't get up,” Zayn mumbles.

Louis blinks hard and fumbles in the sand for the roach they had abandoned so they could start making out earlier. He lights it, takes a drag and then pops it into Zayn's mouth.

“If we get ‘igher maybe it'll be easier t’ move,” Louis slurs.

“Aye, I think tha's ‘ow it works,” Zayn says, discarding the butt and then picking up the bottle of Stoli so he can polish it off.

“I think I wanna stay for a bit after everyone goes,” Louis says to Oli, while gazing into Zayn’s dark eyes. “And we’ll catch up wiv you all later…”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, smiling, and gives him a sloppy kiss, shoving his tongue into Louis’ mouth. Louis moans and kisses him back hard, biting his full bottom lip.

“Uh, alright,” Oli says, stifling a chuckle. “So I'll just -- yeah, just text me when you're heading out, Tommo.”

Louis makes a noise in the affirmative. Oli pulls the blanket over them more securely, then he hears him walk away.

It feels like ages before everybody else gets back to their cars, and they're trying not to let things get any more heated up until they're alone, but they're _so_ drunk and _so_ high.

“Le’s ‘ave a cigarette,” Zayn mutters, his breath hot on Louis’ throat. “That'll sober us up a bit.”

“Mmm,” Louis moans. “Maybe.”

Zayn digs in his pockets for a lighter for what feels like ages. For the most part, people have headed up to the parking lot. He can hear them calling goodbyes to each other, and car doors slamming.

They share a 27, exhaling smoke into each other’s faces without caring, grinning cross-eyed at each other. Louis feels love and affection coursing thickly through his entire body like it's a fever, a virus in his blood.

Finally everyone is gone. Louis lifts the blanket from them, and Zayn, who's perched atop him, twists around and checks.

“We’re alone,” he mumbles, looking gorgeous -- windswept, firelit from behind, cigarette dangling from his mouth like a cowboy. Louis wants to fuck him so fucking bad.

“‘Cept for Danny,” Louis says. Daniel’s waiting in the car up top, probably playing Words With Friends and keeping an eye on the update accounts to see if anyone's blown their spot.

Zayn starts snogging him again, sucking at his bottom lip and then giving him sloppy lovebites to the neck. Louis keeps making little breathy exhales as pleasure spasms in his spine and pelvis.

“You got a condom?” he whispers in Zayn's ear.

Zayn nods and fumbles in his jeans for his wallet. While he's doing that, Louis starts peeling his wet trunks off under the blanket.

Zayn slaps the wallet down on the sand next to them and then does his own disrobing. They help each other, digging their fingers into buttonholes and pockets. Zayn tosses Louis’ jeans to the side, then tears his briefs down and takes a firm handful of his arse.

“Bad boy,” Louis gasps, fisting his hands in Zayn's thick hair.

“Who's bad,” Zayn murmurs in a very low voice, his hand working between them to get the condom on himself.

As fucked up as the two of them are, several things don't occur to either of them -- the first being that said condom has been in Zayn's wallet for years now, and it's expired. And the second being that it's crept up into the fold of the pocket it's in and been creased dozens and dozens of times.

Zayn doesn't even need to finger Louis, he's so ready for him, and they're both leaking precome. Louis moans into the crook of Zayn’s neck as Zayn pushes into him, and then they rock back and forth together, gasping and sighing, overcome by spasms of pleasure.

“God, God,” Louis moans. “Zayn, fuck. God, deeper --”

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes, and thrusts harder, then moans. “Christ, you feel so good --”

“Don't come yet --”

“I won't --”

The condom tears.

Louis comes quickly with a soft cry, raking his nails down Zayn's back, rocked by waves of clenching ecstasy. “I love you,” he says, his voice crackly and low, “I love you --”

Zayn rolls them over onto their sides, accidentally smearing Louis’ come everywhere. “Yeah?” he says, wrapping an arm more tightly around the dip of his waist. His drunk eyes focus and unfocus.

“I love you,” Louis repeats more softly, his voice uneven as Zayn goes in and out of him.

They start snogging again, hard, desperately. All Louis knows is the heat and pleasure inside of this blanket, and the ocean crashing outside. And then Zayn comes, and his whole body moves like an exhale.

They cuddle close, stroking each other’s hair and faces.

“I love you,” Louis murmurs, again and again. He does, he does, he knows it now.

Zayn whispers it back, kissing him under his ear with his soft, full lips.

 

*

 

They clean up as best they can in the car and make it to the club while the party’s still going. Everyone cheers when they walk into the VIP lounge holding hands, their hair all askew, hickies blooming on their necks.

“Alright, alright,” Louis yells as he's dragged along by Zayn. “Fuckin’ perverts.”

They don't stay long. Este Haim is there and comes over to talk to Louis for a good half-hour, just shooting the shit about the album she's working on. He gets a funny feeling when they part ways. He misses music loads; he keeps managing to make himself forget this.

When they leave, Zayn leads him out by the hand again, through the roiling dance floor below. The crowd has thinned out, and iPhones flash as people begin to recognize them. Louis reaches up with his free hand and fixes his sweaty fringe, squinting into the pops of light. Zayn squeezes him more tightly.

Outside, paps are out, and scatter like cockroaches as soon as they spot them. More harsh pops of light, now. Zayn stumbles a bit on the carpet, and Louis grips him hard by the back of his shirt, guiding him to their waiting car.

“How’s the baby?” one pap hollers, jogging alongside the velvet rope so he can get a better shot of them getting into the car. Louis and Zayn give him the finger simultaneously.

Steve and James linger behind, enjoying the misdirected attention, while Oli shields Louis and makes sure he doesn’t slip on the running board, then climbs in after him.

“Where's Jena?” Louis says. Zayn has sagged against him shoulder, half-asleep.

“She’s got work tomorrow,” Oli says, squinting at his phone. “She had fun tonight, though. Says you two throw a good party, even though you were snogging half the night.”

“I liked her a lot, you should bring her ‘round more.”

“Ah, we’ll see.”

“You should get serious with somebody. It's a nice feeling.”

“There's time for that,” Oli says. “We’re young.”

A beat later, he realizes what he said and backtracks with, “I mean, it's different when you've got a kid.”

“Yeah.”

Zayn lets out a soft snore.

“Did James pull?” Louis whispers.

Oli nods. “The girl with the mermaid tattoo. They had it off in the bathroom. Then she left to go meet her friends.”

“Couldn't have been very good.”

“Nah, I think he was just getting his end away. You got any weed left?” Oli says. “Or smokes? I'm out of everything now.”

“No smoking in the car,” Daniel yells through the partition. “We drive your baby around in this.”

“You crashing at ours?” Louis says to Oli.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Back at the house, then.”

Louis is sitting on something painful. He pulls it out from under him and squints at it. Zayn's phone. There's loads of texts, which makes him nervous, but it looks to be just work stuff, and Danny and Ant sending him memes in their group chat.

 

*

 

“Hullo hullo!” a female voice calls.

Louis sits up. His head is swimming and pounding, and offensive daylight is streaming in the sitting room windows. He must have slept on the couch last night.

On the telly above the fireplace, motocross is on. Why is motocross on?

He's lying on something. An arm. A tattooed arm. He sits up and looks to his left. Zayn is sprawled out next to him in the corner, and then Oli’s stretched out across the next stretch of couch, hogging it all to himself.

“Hullo?” It’s Lou, clacking into the sitting room in heels. “Lou-iis?”

“Hey,” he says hoarsely, turning and grinning at her. She's holding Mia.

“Oh, my God,” she says. “You look awful. Want me to make you some eggs?”

“No, no --”

“Dada,” Mia says, reaching out to him with a chubby little arm and touching her fingers to her palm. “Dada!”

His heart jumps, and he beams at them. “Me? I'm Dada?”

“Dada.”

Louis stretches his arms out. Lou gladly delivers her to him.

Zayn groans and stirs.

“Mate,” Louis chirps, hitting him on the shoulder. “Wake up!”

Zayn rolls onto his back, rubbing his eyes and moaning.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Lou asks him.

"Lou, you know perfectly well me an' him don't eat breakfast," he mutters.

"Unless a cigarette and a coffee counts," Louis jokes.

“Oh, boys. I'm making you some eggs!” Lou says firmly, and clacks away.

“Fuck,” Zayn mutters. “What time is it?”

Louis picks up his phone. It's on three percent; he suddenly remembers scrolling through LadBible posts in between throwing up in the kitchen trash. “It's noon. Babe, watch this. Mia, who am I?”

She looks up at him with one of her inscrutable, Zayn-like expressions. “Dada,” she says, reaching up to grab his nose.

“Hey, no shit,” Zayn says delightedly, sitting up. “She means you! That's her first word!”

“Eh, maybe we'll count daddy as the first one, when we can get it,” Louis says.

“Dada,” Mia repeats, and a grinning Zayn picks her up and hoists her above his head in triumph.

 

 

BEVERLY HILLS, JULY 25, 2016

The party, despite starting in the middle of the afternoon, is already raging by six. Most everyone is out by the pool, smoking, dipping their legs in or just swimming carefree in their underwear. It’s a scorcher, the kind of day where the inside of your car broils and your lungs get swampy the second you step outside.

But there’s enough people in the house for it to be uproariously loud inside, loud enough that Louis can still hear the rush of noise when he makes his way up to the third floor to lock himself inside one of their guest bathrooms.

His stomach quavers as he leans against the door. For a moment he thinks it might not happen, then it lurches up into his throat and he’s kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying his stomach.

He feels immensely better, and thinks that might be it. But just as that goes through his mind he’s throwing up again, and after a torturous pause of a few minutes, once more.

Louis stays kneeling, riding out a cresting wave of miserable nausea which fades and leaves him shaking and exhausted. He presses his forehead to the cool porcelain. Maybe he’ll just go to sleep here on the rug.

He wants Zayn, but Zayn is in party mode, drunk, entertaining their dozens of friends. In fact, he’s probably working double duty now, since Louis has vanished.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Find another one,” Louis calls, his voice hoarse.

“No, it’s me,” Lottie says through the door, her voice echoing. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, come in…”

She does, then, shutting the door gently behind her and eyeing him. Louis tries to adopt a less pitiful expression as he gets up and goes to the sink to rinse his mouth out.

In the mirror, he can see her sidle up to him, twisting the rings on her fingers. Her nails are painted a metallic turquoise that reflects off the gray marble of the sink as she drums them on it.

Louis spits.

“You okay?” Lottie repeats, a little more urgently.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just, um. I dunno. I think I’m sick. Been puking most of this week.”

Her fingers stop.

Louis straightens up and looks at her. She looks at him with wide-eyed apprehension.

“I know,” he says wearily. “Trust me, I had the same thought.”

Lottie inhales. “You take a test yet?”

“Not yet.”

He turns the faucet on again and leans down, sticking his head under the cool running water, letting it sluice through his hair and over his face. It feels good.

“You should probably take one,” she says.

Louis doesn’t answer. His heart is pounding with anxiety. She just sighs and rubs at his back.

 

LOS ANGELES, AUGUST 1, 2016

Louis is leaving a meeting where he was helping to coordinate the entertainment for this year’s St. Jude Invest in Hope Los Angeles cocktail dinner when his gut twists. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk in Santa Monica, twenty feet from his car, and he’s puking before he even realizes he’s about to.

He straightens up, trembling. The sun is painfully bright, and it’s a still day without wind. The palm trees aren’t even swaying. There are a few people walking on the opposite side of the street, but none of them seem to have noticed him.

The throbbing nausea that’s been plaguing him all day is gone now. It was mostly bile that came up, since all he’s had today was coffee and a cigarette. He couldn’t even finish the cigarette, actually, because in the back of his head was the gentle drumbeat of _Am I pregnant? I can’t be pregnant. What if I’m pregnant?_

Louis gets back in the car and sets the AC full blast at his face, sinking back against the seat and closing his eyes. Then he texts the nanny.

_Can you stay a few more hrs or until zayn gets home ? sorry. need to run an errand_

_No problem!_ she replies.

 

*

 

The receptionist tells him in a saccharine voice that Joan is at her offices in London, right now, but he’s a very valued client of the practice and if he’s willing to see a different gyno, they can fit him in within the hour. He shrugs and says yeah.

The waiting room is empty. It’s like a museum, or mausoleum, with giant columns of blue marble flanking a small modernist sitting area. The glass table is strewn with _Vogues_ , old _Luckys, Rolling Stones_ and _Faders._

He rifles through the _Faders_ , tossing aside Beyonces, Gucci Manes and Kehlanis until he finds Zayn’s copy. The real-life Zayn is across town, meeting with Taylor Swift, but this Zayn stares up at him from the cover with limpid eyes, frozen in time, spilling juice on himself.

Louis stares at him for a long moment. Then he opens an old Lucky and starts putting the stickers all over his high-tops out of sheer boredom.

 

*

 

Louis didn’t even want a gyno. He’d never seen one before he got pregnant and Simon foisted Joan on him.

He never planned to go through with a whole pregnancy. Nothing about it appealed to him. He didn’t see himself ending up a man -- he thought he’d end up with Eleanor or some other alpha girl, and that she’d have the kids.That at the very most, they’d trade off.

Other than that, he’d never thought about it too hard. Once the band broke out of their early mold, people paid less and less attention to him being an omega. Especially once the rumors started circulating about Harry being one, and the band and their management decided that between that and the Larry problem, the entire topic was best relegated to the blacklist.

The gyno who comes in to see him is named Evelin. She's younger than Joan, less no-nonsense, with a Valley accent, a sturdy build and curly dark hair.

“Hi Louis,” she chirps as she walks in. “How are you?”

“Alright,” he says, folding his hands in his lap, shifting on the crinkly paper on the table.

She beams at him, then takes a seat, props her clipboard up on her knee and inhales. “What brings you in today?”

Louis scratches his knee. He looks down, studying the length of his arm -- his tattoos, the somewhat darker shade of his skin since he’s been in California full-time. He tries to be really in his body, feeling it out the way you feel out an empty tooth socket.

“I feel like I could be pregnant,” he says, hesitantly. “But I dunno.”

“Okay,” she says, unfazed, her smile dimples still firmly in place on her cheeks. “Have you had unprotected sex?”

“That's the thing.” He swallows. His heart is beating really high in his chest. “We've been usin’ condoms every time.”

“Well,” Evelin says, nodding, “condoms are definitely the most effective barrier method, but they're not foolproof, so it's best to combine them with hormonal birth control to prevent pregnancy. I see you told the nurse you're not on anything?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. That's fine, I just wanted to make sure.” She smiles again. “In case you are pregnant.”

Louis closes his eyes and inhales. “Right.”

“Have you taken a test?”

“Nah.”

"Have you been pregnant before?"

"Yeah. Once. I just had a baby in January, my daughter."

"Oh, congratulations."

"Thanks."

She comes over to him, starting to examine him; light in the eyes, depressor in the mouth, stethoscope to the back, the whole routine. While she works, she asks him, “What makes you think you're pregnant?”

“Keep throwing up, and I'm not sick. It feels like last time, where it just comes out of nowhere. Actually, it's worse this time.”

The words tumble out of him, and he realizes, then, that he's talking like he already knows he's pregnant. Maybe he does. The denial is melting away like butter in a pan, leaving behind only shaky clear-eyed fear.

“Oka-ay,” Evelin says sweetly, drawing back from him and resituating her stethoscope around her neck. “So let's go ahead and draw some blood, get this figured out, alright?”

Louis nods.

 

*

 

He forgot how much blood they have to take for this. It chugs sickly up out of his arm. Louis stares, transfixed.

“You don’t have to look,” the nurse says gently.

“Doesn’t bother me,” he says.

They tell him it’ll take three hours to get the results and he goes out to the courtyard, sitting numbly at a little table, eating peanut M&Ms. It’s still so godawful sunny out.

Zayn texts him, _im home babes wher r u,_ and he says, _Something came up ill be home in a couple hrs . that okay?_

 _Yeah_ , Zayn says back. _U alright ??_

_I'm fine don't worry_

Zayn starts to type, then stops and doesn’t respond. Louis drops four or five M&Ms into his mouth at once.

He counts down the hours (four, it ends up being four) in individual increments of twenty minutes, like he used to count down the time on tour when he knew he was only a day from seeing Eleanor, or going home. Finally the receptionist from before comes out to fetch him.

He dogs her steps anxiously. She’s very wee; he towers over her.

“Can you tell me what the news is?” Louis asks her as she drops him off at the elevator, half-cheeky and half-dead serious. She just chuckles and hits the third floor button for him before departing.

Evelin meets him up there, waiting in front of the doors as they open. His gaze snaps to her name badge, instead of her face. Why not _Evelyn_? He imagines her parents in a delivery room, filling out a birth certificate. Evelin. Or maybe she changed it when she was older.

“Louis,” she says gently. “Come with me?”

He heads down the pristine white hallway with her.

She waits until they get in front of her exam room’s door before she touches his elbow and says, “So, it looks like you’re about eight weeks pregnant.”

Louis is somehow less prepared for this than he expected to be. He says aloud, “Fuck, fuck, fucking shit,” and walks past her into the room, his hand going to push his fringe up, his heart beginning to pound. He tastes copper.

Evelin follows him, closing the door and giving him a gentle look. “Obviously you have options,” she says.

Louis laughs, high-pitched. “What, like an abortion? So I’ve just fucked me career up, let down everyone in me life, let down our fans, and threw away somebody I loved, all ‘cos I refused to get an abortion, and now I’m just supposed to turn around an’ start gettin’ abortions like it’s nothing?”

She clearly has no idea what he’s talking about, and he knows he sounds insane, because her brows come together.

“Sit, sit,” she says, and guides him to a chair. “You don’t have to get an abortion, Louis. You can do whatever’s right for you and your family. It’s your decision alone, and any past decisions have nothing to do with the one you’re facing right now. A lot of people who get abortions actually already have children. Okay?”

Louis tries to breathe. “Okay.”

They sit still for a long moment. She keeps rubbing his arm.

“My baby at home?” he whispers. “She’s like eight months old. I can’t believe this is ‘appening.”

“It’s okay. This happens, alright?” She hesitates. “Can I ask why you haven’t tried hormonal birth control, if you were trying to avoid another pregnancy?”

Louis laughs. “Um. I dunno. I was on it, when I was with me girlfriend, and in the band, just so like -- nothing happened, y’know? ‘Cos she was an alpha. Our management really wanted me on it, just in case. But I was trying to trim up, and it was hard to lose weight, so I went off it. And she and I were just careful. And I never went back on. The weight thing, and it made me cranky…” He laughs again, a hiccupy spastic laugh. “Funny, innit? ‘Cos I keep getting knocked up, which, like. Fat and cranky. It’s ironic. Haven't even lost the baby weight yet, and...”

She smiles indulgently at him.

Louis looks up into her eyes. They’re dark like her hair, and warm. He thinks of Liam, and then immediately stops.

“I just don’t get it,” he says with difficulty. “We used condoms. Every time.”

Evelin purses her lips and bobs her head from side to side, like she’s thinking. “Well, there could have been a mishap with the condom, improper application… And, you know,” she says. “Some couples need to be especially careful. Maybe you're especially fertile... maybe Zayn has a high sperm count.”

This makes Louis laugh. Of course he probably does. Beautiful Zayn, like some Greek god -- coming down out of the sky, getting little mortal Louis pregnant just by breathing on him funny, turning into swans and things, he thinks, somewhat deliriously.

“I don’t know, that’s just a guess. But what do you want to do?” Evelin says. “We’re here to help, whatever you need.”

“Can I have some privacy?” he says, clearing his throat. “I’d like to make some calls. And then I’m, um, gonna go home and talk to me husband. And then I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

 

*

 

Louis takes the long way home, curling around the PCH, hills on one side and twinkling ocean on the other. He listens to his loudest, angriest music, music he saves for when his heart’s trying to escape his ribs.

He parks, at one point, on the edge of the road where it’s just scrub and signs and a hiking trail winding by. As cars rush past him, he screams and punches the steering wheel.

But it’s a baby. It’s his baby. Their baby. He can’t help but think of all the tender moments he’s had with Mia this year, pouring water over her head in the bath, getting her to be patient so he can clip her nails, hearing her laugh for the first time. Lately she’s been crawling, and he and Zayn like to follow her from room to room, marveling at how fast she goes.

Those Sunday mornings in bed with him and her, lying there, tickling her feet. Bo running in and jumping on the bed to come nuzzle them. Zayn laughing, his sleepy eyes crinkling, his hair flopping. He’s still boyish in vulnerable moments.

Mia should have a sibling, she should grow up with a partner in crime, a buddy. They’d only be fifteen months apart.

The ugliest part of Louis thinks, too: _He wouldn’t leave. If we have two babies, he won’t leave me._ He shoves the thought away in disgust. That’s not why you have a kid, that’s not why you have a fucking kid.

 

*

 

He walks through the house in slow motion, taking ages to unlace his sticker-covered Vans in their sterile, opulent white entry hall, the chandelier glimmering above him and throwing dancing rainbow prisms on the floor.

Louis carries his shoes down the hall. Zayn is on the couch in the sunken sitting room, watching footie, with the baby in a bouncy seat at his feet.

The TV is blaring. Louis stands in the doorway, frozen, watching him. Zayn doesn't know he's home.

He could turn around and leave again. Go somewhere. Go talk to Oli, or Niall, or Lottie. He has this crazy hope that one of them would say, _No, no, Louis, clearly you should have an abortion. Go do that right now._

But it's his decision and his alone. That's what his mum said, and that's what everyone else would say.

Looking at Zayn makes it that much more difficult. He does love him. He studies the sharp line of Zayn's jaw, the dark intensity of his eyes, and he gets stupid with hormones and infatuation. When did Zayn become a man? He keeps wondering, he can't put his finger on it. After he left the band, and Louis has just spent a whole year too angry to notice?

Zayn finally twigs to his presence and looks over at him, cocking an eyebrow. Louis hugs his arms to himself. He feels small and stupid and burdensome.

“Hey,” Zayn says, and mutes the game. “Where were you?”

Louis inhales and comes over, sitting next to him. He laces his hands and rests them in his lap. “How was Taylor?”

“Good, yeah, she had some tight ideas, we got loads done.”

“Cool. How's Mia?”

“Colicky. Finally got her settled a couple minutes ago. Where’ve you been?”

So he's not going to let him ease into this. Louis steels himself against a sharp stab of nausea.

“I've got some news.”

He continues staring at his hands, even as Zayn leans into his peripheral vision.

“Bruv, you're scaring me,” Zayn says sharply.

“Don't be scared,” Louis mutters.

“Want some water? No offense, you look tweaked.”

Louis laughs. “Yeah, sure.”

The wait for Zayn to come back is interminable. Louis looks at Mia in her bouncy seat. She's quiet, just sitting there and trying to pull the various items on the mobile down to fit them in her mouth. She's always putting something in her mouth, even before she started teething.

Zayn returns, pushing a cool glass into Louis’ hands. He drinks for as long as he can, then sets it on the table and looks at Zayn. His eyes are glowing amber in the hazy light of late afternoon.

“I was at the gyno,” he says hoarsely.

Zayn doesn't seem to register the possible implication of this. He just nods.

Louis leans over and rests his cheek against Zayn’s chest, so he doesn't have to look at him. Zayn slips an arm behind him and rubs his back, the band of his Rolex bumping against his’ shoulder blade. His heart thumps in Louis’ ear.

“C’mon, what's up?” Zayn rubs him a bit more roughly, cajolingly. “Tommo…”

He takes in a long breath.

“I'm pregnant again,” he whispers. “I just found out. I'm two months along.”

Zayn freezes. There's a dead silence between them. Louis feels his heartbeat in his throat.

“Oh,” he says, then exhales very hard. “Oh, Lou. Shit.”

He remains silent, squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face harder to Zayn’s chest.

“How?”

“Condom must've broke, or slipped off --”

“God -- how’s this keep happening?”

“I dunno,” Louis says miserably.

Zayn is quiet for about a minute. Louis wishes desperately that he would speak; he fists his hand in Zayn's shirt like he's afraid he'll get up and walk away. And a part of him is; that this is too much, and he’ll just walk out the front door and never come back.

“What d’we do?” Zayn finally says, and for a second he's no longer a man; the warble in his voice is that of a boy.

Louis sits up. All his thoughts and words are bound up in his chest, twisted and tangled, sticky like tar. “I dunno.”

Zayn runs his hand through his dark hair. “We ought to get married,” he says.

Louis’ stomach drops. “What?”

“C’mon,” Zayn says, his eyes sweet and pleading. “I should've asked ages ago. I should've asked a year ago. It's not too late. Lemme marry you.”

“You don't really love me,” Louis says, dizzy with crazy insecurity, and he gets up and goes into the hall.

“I _do,_ ” Zayn says, following him, but Louis continues on to the bathroom, slams the door behind him and sits, shaking, his back against the bottom of it.

Zayn pounds on it with a flat hand. “Louis… come on…”

The knob rattles.

“You don't!” he screams, fresh tears slicing hotly down his cheeks. “I'm just your mistress you got pregnant, you just feel bad ‘cos you keep knocking me up! That's it! You ain't in love with me!”

“I _am_ ,” Zayn screams back, hoarsely, “I am, you're all I want, you're the one I want -- I didn't even know, mate, ‘til you told me you slept with Liam, like, and it fookin’ ruined me, I've never felt that sick over somebody, I've never felt like this about anybody --”

“You did about Perrie! About Harry!”

“That was _kid_ shit, you and me have a family, we've been raisin’ a baby, it's serious! And you love me back, you told me you did! I -- open the door, Tommo, open the fuckin’ door --”

Louis crawls away and curls up on the rug, his hands pressed to his eyes. Zayn opens the door and kneels next to him, stroking his hair off his face.

Louis doesn't move. He watches the starry patterns against the backs of his eyelids and enjoys the burning feeling.

“Baby,” Zayn whispers. His hands feel nice. He's being so gentle. “Nobody makes me laugh like you. Nobody feels as good to be around. Please.”

Louis tries to talk and just makes a pathetic mewling sound instead. “God, Zayn…”

“Please, please, let’s just get married. Please marry me.”

He feels dizzy and panicked like a trapped animal. He can't breathe.

Zayn sits, and Louis lays his head in his lap, like they did the first time he told him he was pregnant.

“I'm sorry,” he chokes out.

“Hey,” Zayn whispers, stroking his hair. “Look, don't be sorry. _I'm_ sorry.”

Louis sobs, unpretty wracking ones. He didn't realize until now just how devastated he was. It doesn't even make any sense. He’s got this posh easy life, he loves Mia and Zayn, he should want this baby. He feels like an ungrateful little party boy shithead for how sad and terrified he is.

“I'm t-trapping you,” he hiccups, “I'm ruinin’ your life --”

“No, no, you’re not --”

“I am,” he cries. He doesn't want to be consoled. He wants to melt down.

Zayn nudges him. “Can we get up? We left the baby.”

“Oh --” Louis staggers to his feet like a frightened deer. “Shit. Yeah.”

Zayn leads him back to the sitting room, settling them down on the couch. Louis rubs at his itchy, tear-swollen eyes.

Mia’s still just sitting there in her bouncy seat, holding a plastic ring of keys to her mouth. Her eyes have lightened in the last month, and they're shining bright blue in her sweet round face. Love for her floods through Louis, and he calms down a bit.

“Ba ba,” Mia says.

He sits up and pulls her out of the bouncy seat, cradling her to himself, feeling his breathing slow and himself grow calmer at her warm weight and familiar smell. Zayn wraps his arms around both of them, kissing Louis on the side of the head.

“Please don't get rid of our baby,” he whispers.

Louis sniffles. “I've got to think about it,” he says.

“It's mine too, does that mean anythin’?”

“You're welcome to grow it and give birth to it,” Louis mutters. “And stay home all day with it --”

Zayn grows needling in that frustrating, can't-take-no way of his. “That ain't fair -- you know I would if I could --”

Louis wriggles out of his grip, wrapping his arms tighter around Mia, and gets to his feet. “I want to be alone for a bit,” he says hoarsely.

Zayn stares at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Fine,” he says, and turns away, picking the remote back up. He looks deeply hurt.

“You know I've only just found out about this, too.”

Zayn rubs his facial hair and doesn't look at him. “Yeah.”

“Zayn…”

“Go be alone,” Zayn says. “Think it over. Whatever.”

“I do love you,” Louis says in a tiny voice, his chest aching.

Zayn blinks very rapidly, still not looking at him. “Y’know, ’m not your fuckin’ dad,” he says.

"What dad?"

"You know who I mean."

“I didn't say anythin’ about him!”

“Can tell you're thinkin’ about him just by the look on your face.”

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” Louis spits, and walks away, trembly with rage.

He takes the baby upstairs, not turning any lights on. He lies down in his and Zayn's bed and collapses back across the pillows, cradling the baby to himself in the dark. He's bone-weary from all the crying.

Mia burbles and babbles at him, grabbing at his hair.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers to her.

Mia blows a spit bubble. Louis laughs.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, AUGUST 12, 2016

They don't talk about it. Zayn came to bed that night and apologized, and Louis told him it was fine, they both said shit they didn't mean. And Zayn looked so sad, and Louis was exhausted but he just wanted to feel loved, so he pulled his joggers down and they had nice, slow makeup sex.

After that, though, they don't talk about it, even despite the fact Louis has his head in the toilet barfing most mornings. Zayn will wake up, come in the bathroom and sit there stroking his hair, and when he's finished, they sit there for a moment and look at each other in the wan morning light streaming in the arched window, wearing identical despairing looks like they're fifteen and wondering how to tell their parents about this. Then Zayn kisses him on the shoulder and asks if he wants a cuppa.

He sometimes thinks Zayn's going to bring it up -- he’ll zone out at breakfast and stare at Louis’ middle, or get reproachfully silent when they're out with people and someone jokingly needles them about when they're going to get married. But he never does.

He doesn't have to, because Louis slowly realizes he's not going to get an abortion. It's less decisive than it was with Mia -- it rolls in steadily like fog. He finds that he's thinking of the little sea monkey inside him affectionately, dotingly, referring to it in his thoughts as _the baby._ He digs out his prenatal vitamins and starts taking them again. He throws away his cigarettes. He even catches himself thinking, _We should get married before I start showing,_ and says “Oh, _Christ_ , Tommo,” out loud.

Trisha rings them up on a Friday about a week and a half after they find out, asking about Mia, and they're having the regular parent-grandparent banter when she says, “You know, I hardly remember what having just one is like, since Zayn came right after.”

The two of them look at each other, stricken, like they've just been caught smoking behind the primary school.

“Right,” Zayn says awkwardly, while Louis stands there biting at his lip.

When they hang up with her, he expects Zayn to ask, “When can I start telling people?” But instead he just stretches, yawning, and says, “Sure you don't want to come along tonight?”

Zayn and Oli are headed to a party in Malibu that's being thrown by a bloke they know through Louis -- Koa, who used to dance on Lady Gaga’s tours and then went into club promotion when he tore his ACL.

Louis shakes his head. “I'm good,” he says. “Gonna have a night in, watch the fight.”

“What fight?”

“Flores and, uh, somebody.”

Zayn snorts. “Yeah, sounds like the match of the century.”

Louis laughs. “I just want to lie on the couch and not do anythin’,” he says.

“I think James is going. He told me he wants to see the missus.”

“Bring him ‘round after, then.”

“Aw, Tommo...” Zayn balances his personal iPhone on its side on the granite surface of the island. It falls over almost immediately, with a sickening sound. Zayn checks the screen dispassionately, like he wouldn't care at all if it had cracked.

“I'm tired, mate,” Louis says, with a delicate but significant emphasis on ‘tired’.

Zayn nods at him. “Alright. Lemme know if you change your mind.”

“If I do, I'll just ‘ead down there and meet you.”

Zayn comes around the island and gives him a kiss. Louis tilts his chin up, kissing him back, and Zayn wraps his arms around him, walking him backward so he's pressed against the stove.

They snog for a good minute, then Zayn drops his hand to Louis’ belly, which has gotten a bit rounder in the last week. Louis breaks the kiss and nuzzles Zayn's throat. He smells like Gucci cologne and fancy soap.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Can we actually talk about this?” Zayn murmurs. “Tomorrow, like? Or when I get back tonight?”

“Yeah, love.”

“Alright.” Zayn kisses him on the cheek.

 

*

 

“Look, baby,” Louis says to Mia, who's dozing on his chest. “Look how Flores is keepin’ ‘is hands up. He's gonna let him tire himself out, you just watch.”

“Ha-ba,” Mia says.

“Yeah, you're right, it's gonna take a few more rounds, but he'll get him.”

His phone, lying on the table, lights up and begins to ring. It's Oli. Louis squints at it in the dark, then picks it up.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Oli says. He sounds more grim than Louis ever hears him. “Um, don't lose the plot, but --”

“Oh, fuck,” Louis says, panic rising in his throat. “What? What happened?”

“Zayn had a lot to drink, he's just taken a tumble down some stairs over here. I think he's fine, he's talking and everything, but he was walking funny and mixing up words, like maybe he's concussed. They think he might’ve broke his collarbone, and they want to scan his head --”

Louis sets the baby down in her bouncy seat and claps the lights on. “Bloody fucking Christ! Who's _they_?”

“The ambulance blokes. Me and Sean are following them right now. You want the name of the hospital?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, trying to take in a deep breath. His head is swimming. “Yeah, please, lad.”

“Okay, it's Los Robles. But I already called Danny. He rendezvoused with Sean to make sure you and Zayn'll have privacy, and then he's headed your way, so just sit tight."

Louis exhales. “Hey, what would I do without you, quite honestly?”

“Don't give me too much credit,” Oli says. “I mean, I just let your baby daddy fall down a whole flight of fuckin’ stairs.”

Louis chokes out a grim laugh.

 

*

 

They pull up under a blanket of inky California twilight. The air conditioning is blasting, but Louis is sweating, and it's freezing on his skin.

“I think I can park here,” Daniel says, peering out the window. “Right?”

“Either way, leave it,” Louis mutters, shoving the door open and starting to dismantle Mia’s baby seat. “I'll pay for it if we get towed.”

“Louis, Louis -- hold on,” Daniel says, and comes around to his side. “Lemme do that.”

“Okay,” Louis says numbly, taking a few steps back. He pulls his phone out; a few people have texted him variations on _Is Zayn okay??_

He sees James updated his Snap story; he skips through ten or more strobe-lit videos of half-naked dancers and a selfie with Bieber until he gets to a shot of Zayn’s bruised and bloodied face with the caption _fuuuck._

Louis’ heart jumps into his throat. He thinks for a second if he's going to vomit, but it passes.

Daniel hands him the baby in her carrier and shepherds him toward the hospital entrance.

 

*

 

Oli’s in the waiting room upstairs already.

“He's fine,” he assures them as they walk up. “They won't tell me anything, but I heard his doctors talking, they were like, ahh, mild concussion, something something, dumbass drunk celebrities always falling down and busting their heads open…”

“Dickheads,” grunts Sean.

“D’you know if I can go see him?” Louis says.

It turns out that he can't. He finds a nurse and tells her Zayn is his fiancé, and in return she tells him he's downstairs for X-rays and won't be back for a while.

So he leaves the baby with the guys and spends a half hour pacing in the hall, nauseated, his muscles drum-tight. The midnight quiet of the hospital feels more like five a.m. to him as he walks back and forth under those surreal, sickly white lights, his stomach turning at the smell of antiseptic.

Finally the nurse comes to get him.

“He's fine,” she tells him as they walk down the hall. “His collarbone’s not broken after all, just his wrist, and he only has a mild concussion.”

Louis’ eyes strain as he peers into Zayn’s darkened room.

He looks better than in James’s snap, but still bad: his cheekbone is bruised and swollen, he’s got a bandaged forehead and a splinted wrist. He's dressed in a blue-checkered gown with one of those scratchy blankets pulled up to his chest. He stirs when Louis draws near.

“Hey,” Louis says throatily, and perches on his bed.

Zayn opens his eyes. “Tommo,” he says softly. “Wassap…”

Louis laughs, reaches out and strokes his hair. “Nothin’ much, you?”

Zayn fumbles his hand out of the pulse ox on his finger and grasps for Louis, laying his palm against his middle, squeezing the soft fabric of his shirt in his fingers. Louis swallows.

“Might’ve had a bit too much to drink,” Zayn offers. He's still slurring his words a little, and he smells like liquor.

“No shit?” Louis says. “‘Cos you managed to handle the stairs alright when we split that whole bottle of Hennessy and did dabs with that prince kid in Dubai.”

“Ahh,” Zayn says, his eyes twinkling. “Forgot about that…”

“That was the night you got in the hot tub with your jeans on,” Louis says, smiling, “an’ you were yellin’ at me that you couldn't feel your nipples.”

“Now I remember why I forgot,” Zayn says, and they both laugh.

Louis takes a deep breath and glances up, his tired eyes going blurry on the blinking red blood pressure monitor that someone left beside Zayn’s bed. “So, hey,” he says.

Zayn gingerly spreads his arms, and Louis lies down against him, nuzzling his face into his chest.

“Yeah?” he says, sounding tender. Louis can feel his voice moving in his lungs.

“Reckon we’ll keep the baby,” he says, playing with a frayed string on the blanket.

Zayn doesn't respond at first, and Louis finds himself holding his breath as he waits.

“Not saying that just ‘cos I busted me head, right?”

“Nah,” Louis murmurs. “I was gonna tell you when we talked.”

Zayn strokes his shoulder, running his fingertips up and down his bicep. “Good,” he whispers.

“Let’s just make the best of it, right? We can handle this.”

Zayn nods hard.

“I’ll have me first scan in a couple weeks… you can come along, an’ everything.”

“So,” Zayn says. His voice is weak, and keeps catching in his throat. “You gonna let me marry you, or what?”

Louis swallows, and pinches the thin fabric of Zayn's hospital gown in his fingers. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Make an honest man out o’ me.”

Zayn kisses him on the head. “I'm excited,” he murmurs. “Have another little Yasmeen in the house… she’ll have somebody to grow up with, like. Being that close is nice.”

Louis thinks about the little life inside him, thinks about it springing forth the same way Mia did, bursting into his life in a colorful daze.

“And if you need the nanny t’ come on full-time…”

Louis shrugs. “I doubt it,” he says. It's not like he has some bang-up solo career waiting in the wings that would justify him leaving his two little babies alone with Ingrid all day.

He's as close to a mum as they've got, and if his mum could do it, why can't he? He’s got to bring up his own kids. The responsibility of this presses down on his chest like a physical weight, and he makes a small noise in his throat.

“What?” Zayn murmurs.

“Nothing.”

 

*

 

Before Zayn gets discharged, the doctor takes Louis aside.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” she says, guiding him down the hall, like she doesn't want Zayn to be in earshot.

“Alright,” Louis says warily.

He didn't quite catch her name. Dr. Maldonado or Manzavino or something. She slips Zayn’s X-rays out of a manila envelope; they make that wobbly laminate sound as she does. Louis blinks hard. His eyes are dry from lack of sleep.

“We noticed, doing his X-rays, that he has several healed minor fractures,” Dr. M says to him, staring a hole in Louis. “None of which were in his records… so he didn’t seek treatment for them.”

Louis squints at her. “I mean, we were on tour for five years… we'd get busted up and just tape our fingers together, or limp for a few days, or whatever.”

She studies him.

Louis’ heart drops. “Jesus Christ, d’you think I've been _hitting_ him?”

“No, no,” she assures him. “These injuries are more consistent with prolonged alcohol abuse, where you're frequently drinking until you can no longer feel pain, and then having falls.”

A chill runs from the top of his head down his spine, like somebody cracked a cold egg on him. “He doesn't drink that much.”

“Are you sure?”

“Course,” he says. “He's just -- I mean, he had a while in the band where he didn't eat much, he'd get dizzy and things, couldn't that…”

“Malnutrition from an eating disorder can lead to bone loss and fractures,” she agrees.

Louis flinches. “I didn't say disorder,” he says. “I said -- look, you don't get what it was like for us.”

Dr. M nods and puts her hand to his shoulder, guiding him out of the way as a gurney goes by. He glances at her name tag. Oh, so it is Manzavino. “Actually, I see a lot of professional performers at this hospital, and that's where my concern arises from. This isn't standard to the types of healed fractures I usually see. This is standard to the ones I see in cases of alcohol abuse.”

He shrugs out of her grip.

“Add that to the fact that he came in because he fell down an entire flight of stairs,” she says, “and had a blood alcohol level of point three. At least three times the legal limit. He was still walking and talking. Most people would have been unconscious.”

Now that his guard’s down, Louis can't deny the nausea anymore. He tries to swallow it down, but he can’t. He calmly goes over to a trash cash by the nurse’s station and vomits.

Manzavino clacks away in her sensible shoes, then returns with a little cup of water and a tissue. “I'm sorry, Mr. Tomlinson, I didn't mean to upset you --”

“You didn’t,” he mutters, taking the tissue and spitting in it. “It's not your fault. I'm, um… it’s morning sickness.”

“Oh,” she exclaims.

“Look, is he gonna be alright?” He drinks a bit of the water. “With the concussion?”

“He should be fine,” she says. “It's actually good he was so drunk, the fall wasn't as bad as it could have been. People sort of ragdoll --” He flinches again. “Sorry. But you get the gist.”

“When can we get out of here?” he says.

“Within the hour.” She hesitates, then tells him, “By the way, those fractures I mentioned -- they're all from within the last year and a half.”

And having dropped that, she walks away.

Louis goes back to Zayn's room to find he's fallen asleep. He leans in the doorway, studying him -- his dark, wavy hair swept back and curling over itself, eyelids twitching as he dreams, the bruise on his cheekbone purpling as blood goes to it.

Louis remembers with a sickening jolt the day he had Mia, how he found Zayn passed out drunk on his sofa. But he was upset, wasn't he? They were fighting, and he was upset.

He doesn’t drink that much. Right? It’s from jumping around on stage, it has to be. If they did Louis’ X-rays, or Niall’s, or any of them, they’d find the same little fractures.

He believes that, blindly and whole-heartedly.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, SEPTEMBER 6, 2016

They get married at the courthouse on a gorgeous, sweltering hot Tuesday, when the poppies are blooming and the baby is the size of a peach, according to Louis’ now-dog eared copy of _What to Expect_.

They’re stupid with happiness. They wake up smiling, and Zayn climbs atop him, pinning his arms to his sides and snogging him. Louis giggles and pretends to struggle.

“Wanna have sex?” he says, when Zayn breaks away for a moment.

Zayn grins and says “Yeah, always,” so Louis goes over to their balcony doors and pushes them open to let the breeze in, then undresses and sits on the floor, looking up at Zayn, his eyes glimmering with mischief.

Zayn brings a few pillows over and screws him right there. Louis tips his head to the side and watches the palm trees sway, letting the breeze carry his moans outside, probably scandalizing a few neighborhood gardeners who are out trimming topiaries.

Louis doesn't really care. Zayn’s making him pulse with pleasure on every thrust, making his thighs quiver. He wraps his legs around him and fists his fingers in his hair, wishing he could keep him there forever.

And then Zayn blows him, which he doesn't do very often. But he takes it slow today, sucking and licking Louis in long, lascivious strokes until electricity shoots up his tingling spine.

When they're all done, Louis lies there fuzzy-brained with a pillow over his cock while Zayn fusses around in the bathroom. He can hear the clinking sound of bottles of product hitting the counter.

“Hey,” he calls, his voice throaty. “Are we gonna wear suits today?”

Zayn peeks his head out the French doors, smiling. His hair’s fixed up, and a slim gold chain is gleaming on his neck. “Us? Nah. Just you wear somethin’ white.”

Louis snorts. “Hey, I've got a joke,” he says, sitting up. “What d’you call a chav in a suit?”

“What?”

“The accused.”

Zayn laughs and comes over to him, pushing him back down against the pillows and pressing gentle kisses to his middle, which has begun to grow gently convex again.

“Hey,” he murmurs, stroking Louis’ hip. “You're showin’ a bit now, you notice that?”

Louis grins with joy, going cross-eyed from gazing up at him. “Aye, better up hurry and marry me, you delinquent.”

“Whatever, we already got one bastard, what's two?”

Louis laughs and whacks him with one of the pillows.

 

*

 

They bring Mia along, and dress her nicer than either of them -- Louis wears a sweatshirt big enough to ward off suspicion if they get papped, and Zayn looks casual to match him. They dress like they would while bumming around their respective hometowns.

Mia, though, is dressed in something Lottie bought for her. “You don't have anything girly and cute for her!” she said when she was visiting a few weeks ago, and Louis and Zayn just sort of blinked at each other.

“I thought baby Jordans _were_ cute,” Louis said, and Lottie went, “Oh my God.”

So the next day she came by with an armful of little dresses and cute baby sandals, and today they have her in a blue number with a matching headband. They didn't get out of the house without arguing over who should be the one to post an Instagram of her (Louis won).

As they climb into the car, Zayn starts humming the Wedding March.

“Go all out if you're gonna do that, put it on,” Louis tells him, strapping Mia into her seat.

This is of course the wrong thing to say, because he immediately pulls it up on Spotify and starts blasting it with the bass boosted.

“Love,” Louis yells over the music.

He obligingly turns it down. “Shit, you know what? I meant to tie cans to the car.”

“That's for after we're married, I think."

"Cool, still got time."

 

*

 

Zayn surprises him at the end of the ceremony with two heavy, diamond-embedded Cartier wedding bands. Louis shifts Mia on his hip and grins at him.

“Oh, love, you didn't have to,” he says. “Shit, these are _nice."_ He weighs his in his hand. “This Welsh gold?”

“Hey, only the best for our shotgun wedding,” Zayn says. “Got something else, too.”

He pulls up his sleeve and shows Louis a spot over the bend in his forearm, where there had previously been a blank spot amongst his tattoos. There's a small one that says _Mia_ in pretty script. It's still got dried blood on it; he must have snuck out and gotten it that morning, when he said he was picking up coffee.

“Oh, sick, I _love_ that,” Louis says, beaming. “I want a matching one, who'd you go to?”

“JonBoy’s in town, actually. I figured, it’s small, like --”

“Yeah, he did it perfect.”

“I would’ve brought you along, but --” Zayn shrugs. “Thought the surprise was nice.”

“Nah, it was.”

They meet eyes and smile tenderly at each other. Louis gets that soppy hormonal feeling again, smiling irrepressibly, his heart all hot in his chest, his knees weak.

Mia, babbling, reaches out for the ring in Zayn’s hand. He lets her take it, and she immediately puts it in her mouth.

“Oh no you don't,” Louis says, quickly pulling it back out. Zayn busts up laughing.

“Da da,” Mia says, very firmly.

“Yeah!” Louis exclaims. “Can you say Daddy?”

“Ba ba boo.”

Zayn grins. “Baba... booey?”

“Imagine if we started her sayin’ that on cue.”

“Ha, we ought to.”

Louis hands Zayn back his damp wedding band.

The wedding officiant, James, returns with the rest of their paperwork. He keeps glancing nervously between their entourage of Sean, keeping guard at the door, and their witness Oli, who keeps going in the hallway to peer out the front door in case paps show up and they have to leave through the back. He's also politely avoiding looking Louis in the belly -- actually, everyone is, except Zayn, who keeps gazing at it proudly.

“Just sign these, and you're done,” he says. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, mate.” Louis sets Mia on the counter and picks up a pen just as Oli pops back in the door.

“Anything?” he says, glancing up.

Oli shakes his head. “All clear.”

Louis writes Zayn’s name and the date down for him; he's got a soft cast on his wrist for a few more weeks. He passes the pen so Zayn can chicken scratch his signature.

“Aaand,” Zayn murmurs, finishing with a flourish. “We’re married, I reckon.”

Louis’ heart quickens, and his vision gets funny and sharp. “We’re married,” he repeats quietly.

Zayn brings Mia into his arms and kisses her gently on the head, his eyes still fixed on Louis.

 

*

 

They have a few dozen people over after to celebrate. They agreed a few days ago they should have a proper ceremony and reception when they’re back up in England and their families should come, so they just ring up whoever happens to be around that day -- Lottie, Oli, mutual friends, people who worked with them in the band.

“I reckon we can tell people about the baby now,” Louis says to Zayn, but they don't go out of their way to. The people they're closest to already know, and Louis changes into a tighter fitting t-shirt so everyone else can put two and two together if they like.

He's mostly worried about when it gets into the tabloids; he's afraid of all the subtle digs people are going to throw at him and Zayn, the things that tend to stick, shit he doesn't want his kids growing up hearing. He can take the jokes about stupid pop stars who don't know how condoms work, but the other stuff stings. It's the words they use, the words he knows they're gonna use. The needling reminders of how young they are, that it was unintentional, where they're from, that they've had so much public drama -- over and over the implication of, _what else would you expect_? The two Yorkshire boys lived down to expectations. Like having a baby is a low-class public misdeed, the same as leaking a video of yourselves smoking weed or abandoning your fiancée.

Once people start arriving Louis ducks into the kitchen and calls Niall, not even expecting him to be in town, but he picks up almost immediately.

“Hey, lad,” Louis says. “Want to come over?”

“Sure. Was actually just about you give you a ring. Right now?”

“Yeah, now. Me an’ Zayn are having a few people over. We, uh.” It sticks in his throat. “We just got married.”

He’s met with a very loud silence.

“ _Married_?” Niall says. “What, like you had a wedding?”

“Nah, nah.” Louis drums his fingers on the island. “We eloped, just went down to City Hall this mornin’.”

“Oh.” Niall sounds weird. “Shit, congratulations.”

“Thanks. Come over,” Louis urges. “You at home?”

“Yeah, I am. I'll be by in a bit.”

‘A bit’ ends up being more like four minutes. Louis hears him screech into the circular driveway and excuses himself to meet him out front, watching as he climbs out of his convertible, sunglasses perched atop his head.

“Tommo!” Niall calls, striding over to him and wrapping him up in a hug. “You're married? The fuck?”

“You drive here at like seventy miles an hour or what?” Louis says, his voice muffled in Niall’s shirt.

Niall pulls back from him. His face is melancholy; his blue eyes glitter. “You're really married?” he repeats.

A lump grows in Louis’ throat. He nods.

“Come in,” he says, slapping Niall on the back. “Come have a beer.”

 

*

 

Niall greets a few people he knows as they duck through the entry hall. Louis is relieved that Zayn's still in the sitting room. He and Niall still haven't had anything but the most stilted small talk since Zayn left the band.

In the kitchen, Louis goes looking for a seltzer and Niall takes a seat at the island, gnawing at his lip.

“Hey,” Niall says, as Louis rummages in the fridge. “Um, I feel sorta funny askin’, but…”

“But what?”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Louis at first feels the hot-cheeked, unpleasant surprise of being caught out, but then realizes the opportunity for a joke and turns around blank-faced.

“Nah,” he says casually. “Why, I look it?”

Niall goes as white as a sheet. Louis waits a beat before he smirks at him.

“I'm joking,” he says. “Obviously I’m pregnant, yeah. About three months in. Your fuckin’ face just now...”

“You little shit,” Niall exclaims.

“Sorry, that was just too easy.”

“Hey, but -- wow, lad. That's great, congratulations. Double congratulations.”

“Thanks, thanks.”

Louis slides a Corona over to him. Niall takes it in his hand and rubs his thumb up and down the frosted glass. He looks anxious and preoccupied.

“Neil,” Louis says, leaning his elbows on the island. “You alright?”

Niall nods and breaks his gaze. “So, Irish twins,” he says, with a cheeky smile.

“They aren't,” Louis exclaims. “They're gonna be fifteen months apart.”

“Still Irish twins, mate.”

“No! Irish twins is a year or less. I looked it up.”

Niall looks down, the corners of his lips twitching. “Sure, Tommo.”

“I know they're a bit close together,” he admits. “Shit happens.”

“So this wasn't planned or anythin’?”

“Fuck, no. Wasn't exactly planning to start pushin’ em out once a year before I’m old enough to rent a car.” Niall laughs. “We just, y’know...”

“Yeah, I get it,” Niall says, grinning at him. “I've seen you two together…”

Louis shifts and makes a huffy noise. “Why’s everyone keep saying shit like that and being like, winky nudge wiv me? Even me acupuncture lady, I told her last week and she was like, Ho _ho,_ I'd be spendin’ a lot of time under that boy too, if I was you!”

Niall chokes on his beer.

“I'm not joking, she actually said that shit!”

Niall takes Louis’ hand in his. “I believe you,” he says, and winks at him.

“Fuck off,” Louis says genially. “So what's this thing you need to tell me that’s got you all pinch-arsed and driving to my house a hundred miles an hour?”

Niall drops his hand and goes quiet, tucking his lower lip into his mouth. “Can't believe you just went and got married,” he says, staring at the ring on Louis’ hand.

“Niall,” Louis prods him.

“Okay,” Niall says, and inhales. He glances up at Louis, his face haloed by the sun streaming in the wide bay kitchen windows.

Louis can hear Bo’s nails skittering on the floor in the living room, and a few people laughing. He can pick Zayn’s laugh out among them.

“Payno an’ Cecilia are, ah… They've been dating since January, and they're pretty serious.”

Louis bites down on the inside of his cheek. “Alright. And?”

Niall’s entire face softens -- with pity, or with guilt. Whatever it is, Louis hates it.

“They're actually having a baby too,” he says. “He just called t’ tell me like an hour ago.”

Cold shock dumps down Louis’ spine, and his ears begin to ring. He attempts a neutral expression. He can tell it isn't at all convincing.

“I’m sorry, lad -- I just didn't want you to hear it from somebody else first --”

“What's there to be sorry about?” Louis says, high-pitched. “That's great. That's really nice. Lovely. Everyone's having babies. Mazel tov.”

 _What the fuck? Who the fuck is this Cecilia person? Haven't they been dating less than a year? How is the band ever going to get back together at this rate?_ And then: _This is my fault, he wanted a family, I told him to go away and leave me alone, I did this, I don't have anyone to blame but myself._

His face is so hot he can barely breathe. He goes over to the freezer, opens it and sticks his head inside.

“Louis?”

“I'm fine,” Louis calls. He closes his eyes, letting the frigid air pour over him, willing his heart to stop its sickening pounding. He's afraid he'll throw up if it doesn't.

“Louis,” Niall says, sounding really concerned.

Louis tries desperately to remember how happy he was earlier -- Zayn’s crinkly-eyed smile when he showed him the tattoo, how they couldn't stop laughing and kissing while they were having sex this morning.

“Yo, Niall,” says Zayn’s voice. “Didn't know you were here.”

Louis takes a step back from the freezer and sees his husband leaning in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I’m in town, so.”

“Right.” Zayn scratches his beard. “Good to see you, mate.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Sorry I keep missin’ you when you visit,” he says. “Been working a lot.”

“No worries.”

“Why’d you have your face in the fridge?” Zayn says to Louis.

Louis shrugs. “Just nauseous.”

“Weirdo,” Zayn says. “You tell Niall the news?”

“That we’re married?”

Zayn grins and comes over, patting him sort of carelessly on the stomach as he reaches behind him to get a beer. “Nah, the other news.”

“Aye, yeah,” Louis says, making eye contact with Niall, who's making that awful guilty face again. “He's all up to speed.”

“Congratulations, boys,” Niall says.

Zayn wraps his arms around Louis, resting his chin on his shoulder and slipping a hand under his tee to cup his belly. “Thanks,” he says, and kisses Louis on the cheek. Their stubble rubs together.

Louis laces his fingers in Zayn’s. The lump in his throat is worse, now, and he can't seem to swallow over it.

Niall takes a long sip of his beer. “‘Scuse us, think I'm gonna go say hullo to Cole,” he says, sliding off his barstool.

Once he's gone, Zayn murmurs, “You alright?”

“I'm great, love.”

“Okay.” He uses the edge of the island to pop the top off his beer.

Louis watches as he downs a third of it in one sip. Inside him, their baby is moving -- little flickering pulses low in his belly.

 

*

 

Niall watches them the rest of the afternoon; he chats with people at the edge of the sitting room while trying simultaneously to puzzle out if Louis is really okay or putting on a brave face. He can usually tell easily: Louis’ eyes give everything away, and when he’s sad or hurt they get this glassed-over effect that permeates his every expression.

But he’s not quite doing that today. He’ll be all smiley one minute sitting on the couch, Zayn’s arm wrapped around him, and then the smile will drop and he’ll go dead-eyed, staring into middle distance. Then Zayn will say something to make him laugh, and he’s back again like he never went anywhere.

Niall wants desperately to talk frankly to him, just because Louis is the best at being honest. Busy as Harry is now, Niall doesn’t have much more contact with him than superficial texts, and every time he brings Louis up to Liam, Liam turns into a manic Teddy Ruxpin doll, saying the same things over and over in a cheerful voice. “I’m really happy for them, I’m so glad they made it work, I think it was supposed to all work out like this.”

But he can tell he’s not going to be able to peel Louis away from Zayn. Zayn is guarding him like a dog, as if he can sense that Niall has dug up the corpse of Louis and Liam’s relationship and dragged it into their home. He keeps shooting glances at him, and when he accidentally catches Niall’s eye, he smiles and immediately looks away.

Louis, for his part, keeps leaning into Zayn, nuzzling on him, gazing at him, lacing their fingers together over his stomach. He's as possessive of Zayn as Zayn is of him. It gets especially bad when this model bird Lisette who Zayn had it off with in New Zealand few years ago shows up as somebody's date. She comes over to say hello to Zayn, all veneers and cleavage, and Louis shoots Niall a wide-eyed _help me_ look.

Niall makes his way through the crowd and settles on the couch, stealing the seat Lisette was about to take and playing it up like he's being a drunk Irish boor.

“Oh, is there champagne?” she says, seeing the flute in Niall’s hand.

“Yeah,” he says, and hands it to her. “If you get yourself some, can you top me off, love? Cheers.”

She goes off disgruntled. Louis covers his mouth, laughing silently, and mouths _thanks_.

“So,” Niall says to them, putting his feet up on the large square table. “You honeymoonin’? Babymooning? Both?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nah. No plans.”

“Don't wanna travel with Tommo right now, I'm worried about that Zika shit,” Zayn says.

Louis laughs. “I'm not gonna get Zika, babe.”

“Whatever, youse, I don't want no tiny head baby.”

“If we have a Zika baby, I'll name it Simon,” Louis says drily.

“Why, does Zika make your willy tiny, too?” Niall says.

Louis laughs very hard at this.

“Where's Mims?” Niall adds.

“Oh, Lottie’s got her.”

Lottie must hear this, because she comes over and deposits a wriggling, smiley Mia in Niall’s lap. “She's being a bit of a handful,” she warns him.

“That's my fault,” Louis says. “Let ‘er nap too long.”

Niall perches Mia on his knee and makes faces for her. She gazes up at him in rapt fascination, then reaches up and tries to grab his face. He laughs.

Her eyes are like Louis’ now, he notices, although she still mostly resembles Zayn. He wonders what their other kid’s going to look like.

“Niall,” Louis says. “Tell me about this song you've got in the pipe.”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Niall says, chuckling as Mia begins to play with his jacket zipper. “It's dropping the end of this month. Don't really want t’ spoil the surprise, but I will say it's like, folk pop.”

“You play on it, at all?” Zayn says.

Niall glances up at him. He both sounds and looks genuinely interested.

“Yeah, I do,” he says.

“Cool,” Zayn says, with a small smile.

Niall nods, then settles back against the cushions to start telling them about it.

 

*

 

When everyone's gone, Louis finds he's too tired to stand up for a shower, so he takes a bath. In the warm water, he lays his ring hand on the gentle swell of his belly. He feels domesticated, settled. it's a comforting feeling. There's a sort of relief to it, to giving in blindly to twists of fate, to the wills of others.

“Hi baby,” he says aloud, more to keep himself company than anything else. “Your parents are married, now... That's nice, right?”

He can't feel it moving quite yet. He waits anxiously for this, for the little kicks and rolls and flutters he relied on to know Mia was alright. But at every scan, Zayn holds his hand while Evelin looks for his heartbeat, and at every scan, she says, “There you go,” _whoosh whoosh._

 

BEVERLY HILLS, SEPTEMBER 27, 2016

Louis pokes his head out of the master bathroom door, looking at Zayn, who's curled up in bed watching TV, eating rice cakes and wearing nothing but a cross and a pair of grey briefs.

“Oi,” Louis calls to him. “Is there any angle I don't look pregnant from?”

Zayn glances at him. “Nah,” he says with a mouthful of rice cake, and turns back to the TV.

Louis tosses a balled up t-shirt at him. Zayn blinks in offense and hits mute.

“Look, I've got a meeting with Simon in two hours, and I don't want him to know yet,” Louis says, smoothing his hands over his middle.

“He's gonna find out soon enough, anyway. And who cares what he thinks? Fuck him. You ought to drop ‘im entirely. You want to sign with RCA? I can get you a meeting, like, tomorrow.”

To his annoyance, Louis doesn't respond or react to this at all. Zayn watches as his husband, having exhausted the considerable contents of both their closets, starts digging through a pile of clothes on the floor. He picks up a particularly big sweatshirt and pulls it on.

“Does that work?” he says, turning from side to side.

“Not really,” Zayn says. “Maybe if you were sittin’ down?”

“I could keep me back to him the whole time, just sorta edge around the room pressed to the wall.”

“Try a poncho.”

“Fuck off,” Louis says, laughing.

“Or you could like, bring him a fruit basket, and hold it out in front the whole time.”

“Why am I already showing this much?” Louis mutters, digging more frantically through the pile. “It's just a matter of time before I get papped, and then every interview you do, they're gonna be like --”

“Tommo,” Zayn says, spreading his arms.

Louis stands up. He's cute today; his hair’s all messy, and he's started to get that glow.

“Size of an avocado, now,” he’d told Zayn that morning when they were having breakfast, and he had that sweet dreamy-eyed look he's been getting more often lately.

“C’mere,” Zayn tells him.

Louis disagreeably comes over and settles in his lap.

“Y’know what,” Zayn murmurs, kissing his neck, “since you're so stressed over it, you should cancel your meetin’, stay here and have sex with me.”

“I can't, it was a favor of him to even agree to meet with me --”

“Louis, _what_? He bled us all dry for years. You don't owe him shit, he owes you.”

Louis is quiet. Zayn applies a more aggressive series of kisses to the nape of his neck and his shoulders.

“Don't even go,” he murmurs, slipping his arms around Louis’ waist, pressing his palms to his warm belly and his lips to his shoulder. “Just stay here with me.”

“No,” Louis says. “I'm going.”

Zayn sighs, sagging against him, and bites him gently where his trap muscle flares out from the back of his neck. There's no point in arguing with Louis when he's like this; fiery-eyed, papering over tender vulnerability with stubborn recalcitrance.

“Sex before you go?” he says.

Louis turns to him, eyes half-lidded, nodding, and then they're lying back in the dark sheets together, fingers in each other's hair. Zayn closes his eyes and presses his lips to the hollow under Louis’ throat, listening to the soft sounds he makes as Zayn maneuvers inside him. He always feels great, always hot and tight and willing, moaning high-pitched in Zayn’s ear. He reaches down to squeeze a handful of his bum.

Louis huffs out a chuckle. “You really like my pregnant arse,” he says huskily.

“Love your pregnant arse,” Zayn replies, biting at his neck and making him groan.

 

*

 

Louis has to wait around for Simon, even though he's had this appointment for ages. He hangs out in the lobby, a vault of sea green marble with an atrium ceiling that's attended to by a very chilled-out receptionist, who types more slowly than he's ever heard anyone type.

She keeps offering him tea, coffee, water, and he has to politely decline while keeping his arms tightly folded around himself. He's got morning sickness and acid reflux today, and he's afraid that if he even accepts the water it'll make him spew all over the nice armchair he's sitting in.

“I can take your sweater,” she shouts across the lobby when he's been waiting for ten minutes, her voice echoing.

“No thank you,” he shouts back, despite that he's begun to sweat.

Finally Simon comes down to fetch him, breezily apologetic about the wait.

“No problem, mate,” Louis says, keeping his hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket.

In his office, Simon pulls him up a chair and then takes a seat behind his desk, picking up his old-lady glasses and perching them on his nose. “So,” he says. “How've you been?”

The big window behind him overlooks downtown to the west, and the late afternoon light pouring in is so harsh it’s making Louis nauseous. Squinting, he swallows down a dry heave and leans his elbow hard on the armrest. He can feel the baby moving, making it worse. “Alright.”

Simon purses his lips. “Anything new?”

“Nah.”

Simon stares him down. “Nothing at all.”

“No.”

Simon’s eyes narrow. Louis looks defiantly back at him.

“I know you're pregnant,” he says. “And I know you ran off and eloped with Zayn.”

“Aw, fuckin’ hell,” Louis complains. “Who told on me?”

“A little birdie who went to your wedding reception,” Simon says. “Although, I've got eyes, Louis.”

“I’ve got a hoodie on!”

“Yeah, it's not helping.”

Louis sighs and slumps back in his seat, arms folded. Simon steeples his fingers.

“So,” he says. “You're really making a go of it with him?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, holding up his left hand. “I am.”

Simon eyes slide over, spot the ring, and then bounce up to meet Louis’.

“Alright,” he says, rubbing at his stubble. “Alright.”

“Spare me the disappointed lecture.”

“I'm not disappointed, Louis, you're doing the right thing. I just can't help feeling as if I let you down.”

Louis laughs. “How?”

Simon has a hilariously somber expression, like he's delivering a eulogy for Louis’ innocence. “Your security team let me know, years ago, that Zayn had crawled into Harry’s bed. I should have told them to tell Paul, but I figured that it would work itself out. Of course, it did, but then he ended up moving on, crawling into yours, and...” Simon makes a broad gesture at him, as if to communicate the concept of pregnancy in shorthand.

“Figured it would work itself out? More like you figured you'd get better performances out of us if you let us a bit of leeway,” Louis says drily, “and you knew Paul would've put a stop to it if he knew.”

“Well, regardless. I should've known it was a bad idea. Two alphas, two omegas, you all sleeping in each other's beds all the time… trapped on buses, all those young hormones…” Simon shrugs. “I wasn't surprised when you turned up pregnant. What really surprised me is that you had the baby.”

“He wasn't crawlin’ in anybody’s bed, by the way,” Louis says. “He and Harry flirted for ages before anything happened, and I was the one who came onto him, originally. So there you go.” He pauses, then says out of spite: “And I fucked Liam as well. So.”

Simon rubs the bridge of his nose. “Christ. Seriously?”

“Well, stop putting this all on Zayn,” Louis snaps. “I'm not this, like -- I'm not this stupid, vulnerable fuckup just letting life happen to me --”

“Louis --”

“And Zayn's not this evil bastard --”

“No, just a serial cheater, and disloyal,” Simon lectures, picking these crimes off on his fingers.

“Stop it!”

“-- and a shirker, a skiver, who talks out both sides of his mouth --”

“And how much of this is you bein’ angry ‘cos he didn't let Syco wring every last dime out of him?”

“I cannot believe,” Simon says, “that you're now on his side about this after what he did to you and your band!”

Louis sits there, furious and hot in the cheeks. And then, without wanting to at all, he starts to cry.

“Oh,” Simon says, in a panic. “No, no. Look, Louis, come on, don't -- there's no need for all that --”

“I don't mean to,” Louis chokes, snatching some tissues out of the box Simon extends to him. “It just happens.”

Simon looks terribly alarmed by the intensity of his emotions. He sits there grimacing until Louis composes himself.

“Did you get a prenup, at least?” he says.

“Yeah! We signed some things before we got married, we aren't going to touch each other's money, we agreed! Can we just not talk about Zayn,” he mutters, wiping at his eyes. “At all. Let’s just talk about my career, it's why I came.”

“Okay, well,” Simon says. “When's the band getting back together, if ever?”

“At this point? I've got no idea. Me and Harry aren't speaking, nor me and Liam. Second one's not out of any animosity, or anythin’, but we're not talking.”

He remembers Liam's having a baby, too, and he's hit with a dizzy wave of unreality.

“I want us to get back together,” he says, his voice small. “I want to do it for the fans, if nothing else. Just, I dunno. Right now, I dunno.”

“Okay,” Simon says. “And everyone seems to be after their solo careers.”

“Seems like it.”

“Would you want to follow suit?”

Louis laughs bitterly. “Right. After I've alienated half me fans by making OTRA end early, and the other half have barely heard from me in months besides me tweeting about the baby and going to a couple Galaxy games. Oh, and everyone blames me for the hiatus, even though I didn't want it --”

“Louis, let your label handle the PR angle, for Christ’s sake. Just tell me what you want.”

Louis looks wanly up at him. “I've got a baby at home, and another on the way --”

“Louis,” Simon says. He's beginning to sound annoyed. “ _What do you want.”_

Louis starts to answer, then dry heaves again. He presses his fist to his mouth.

Simon looks more afraid by the moment. “Please don't throw up.”

“I won't.” He inhales. “I wanna make music. Or at least help other people make music.”

“Alright.” He pulls over a pad of paper and picks up an expensive-looking pen. “That's a start.”

 

*

 

Louis is met at the front door by Zayn, who sometime in the last few hours has bleached the tips of his hair.

“Hey,” Zayn says, grinning and sticking his foot out to keep an eager Bo from escaping down the drive. “Like it?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, reaching up to ruffle his head. Zayn agreeably bends into his touch. “Looks great. You just get an urge?”

“Yeah, y’know. Rang up Poppy and she came over with the bleach.” He straightens up and runs a hand through it. “Gonna add somethin’ else, but lavender’s over by now, innit? Maybe silver?”

Louis reaches down to scritch Bo behind the ears. Bo spins in happy circles and licks his face. “Whatever you're feeling.”

“I like silver,” Zayn says, tailing him into the house. He’s in one of his funny moods, those high-energy surges where he talks fast and a lot and gets handsy. “How was your meeting?”

“Simon-y,” Louis says.

Zayn makes a face.

“Where's Mims?”

“Zonked out after her bottle.”

Louis turns to Zayn, who slips his arms around his lower back and pulls him close. They nuzzle.

“I might re-sign with Syco,” Louis murmurs to him, running his fingers through his newly bleached hair.

“Oh, Louis,” Zayn objects. “C’mon.”

“It's my decision,” Louis says. “Haven't even decided if I’ll do anything yet. Just putting myself on their roster.”

Zayn exhales and squeezes the back of his shirt. “Alright…”

“‘Scuse me one second,” Louis says, and goes to throw up in the entry hall bathroom.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, OCTOBER 31, 2016

They forget it's Halloween until their neighbor comes bothering them -- Melissa from down the road, carrying a box of teal-painted pumpkins to hand out, trailed by her twin sons who have identical floppy blonde hair and never seem to talk.

“Hi!” she says enthusiastically after they open the gate to let her in and she clacks up the driveway in her Choos. “Are you going to leave your gate open tonight?”

It's an unusually crisp, windy day, and Louis hugs his arms to himself as he and Zayn exchange a puzzled look. Mia is sleepy and docile today, so they've been having a lazy lie-in for once. They watched Goodfellas, then ordered pancakes on Postmates and ate them in bed, feeding Mia tiny pieces and quoting Tommy DeVito at her. “ _You stuttering prick_!” She found this extremely hilarious, despite having no idea what was going on.

“Are we gonna what now?” Zayn says.

“For Halloween!” She lifts her eyebrows. “Trick-or-treating?”

“Ohh, shit,” Louis exclaims. “Is that today?”

“Yeah!” She shifts the box on her hip. “I’m giving out teal pumpkins to houses that are giving out non-food items, it's to show your house is safe for kids with food allergies. Will you two be participating?”

She trails off. Zayn and Louis, who don't even have candy to give out, exchange an _oops_ look.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, finally. “Yeah, we've got, uhh… stuff.”

Louis nods in support of this blatant lie.

“Great!” Melissa chirps, and hands Zayn a pumpkin. “By the way -- Louis! Nina Sherrod mentioned you're pregnant?”

He blinks at her, because this is blatantly obvious, but he supposes she's being polite. “Oh, yeah. Got another in the, er, oven.”

“That's lovely! Can I feel?”

She comes forward and cups her hands to his jumper without waiting for an answer, something he hates every time it happens. His displeasure must be obvious on his face, because Zayn looks down, biting his lip to stifle a laugh and palming the pumpkin back and forth in his hands.

“How far along?” she says, glancing up.

“‘Round five months.”

“Oh, how lovely!”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re excited.”

Zayn smiles. “Sleepy, but excited.”

Melissa lets out a tinkling little rich-person laugh.

“I'll see you tonight, then?” she says, going over to fetch her bored-looking little sons.

They chorus _yeah_ s and wave goodbye, then head back into the house. Louis rubs at his eyes, and Zayn squeezes his shoulders, steering him down the hall and back into the living room, where Mia is still snoozing in her bouncy seat.

“You wanna go buy some candy?” Louis says, as Zayn goes over and picks her up, then settles back onto the couch with her across his chest. “Or, I dunno. We got invited to some things, we could go out. Or we could take her trick-or-treating and eat her candy ourselves.”

“Oh, love… let’s just shut the porch light off and keep the gate locked, yeah?”

“It might be fun for Mims, though.”

He glances up at Louis. “She's not gonna remember any of it.”

“Might be nice to start a tradition,” Louis counters, hitching up his joggers, which are slipping off his arse. “I like to do nice, fun things, once in a while.”

“We’re gonna be up and down all night answering the door, talking to kids…”

“So? I like kids!”

“You shouldn't be on your feet all night, you're pregnant.”

“You could do it, then.”

Zayn groans.

“You like kids, too!”

“Kids I _know_ , yeah. Not these little rich shits who live around here.”

“We ought to be good neighbors, too. I mean, we’ve sort of settled down, haven't we? Might be here for a while.” He smooths his hands over his middle and keeps them there.

Zayn sighs. “Right. Reckon we will be.”

Louis feels a twinge of insecurity. He moves his hands so they're parallel to each other, absent-mindedly cradling his belly. “Do you not want to be?”

“Oh, Tommo… Look, I know we picked this neighborhood ‘cos it's got good schools nearby, and shit, but what d’we have in common with these people? They're all uptight and forty, half of ‘em look down their noses at us…”

“I know they do, and you know I hate that shit too, but it doesn't matter how we feel, it matters that Mims has cute photos from her first Halloween she can look back at in twenty years.”

“Well,” Zayn says, stroking her little dark head, “she’s got no costume, and neither do we…”

“We can find some shit in the closet.”

He eyes Louis sleepily. “You're really hung up on this, aren't you?”

“I don't exactly have much else going on, bruv. I got shit like this, and that's it.”

“‘S’not true…”

“Isn't it?” Louis shifts his weight. 

Zayn gestures in annoyance, his watch slipping down his wrist. “Didn't you just take a meeting with Simon?”

“I know, but I’m not gonna be able to act on that for a while, am I? I mean, c’mon, we can't both be working on solo shit, the poor kids’d never see us, and this one ain't even out of me yet, anyway.”

Mia stirs and lets out a string of loud babbling. They both laugh.

“I’ll think of something,” Louis says, coming over and collapsing next to them on the couch. “I'm thinking _Grease_? _Grease_ is easy.”

“Whatever you want, lovey.”

“You wanna be Danny? I'll be Kenickie.”

“Is Kenickie pregnant?”

“You're right. You be Kenickie, an’ I'll be Rizzo.”

Zayn leans over and presses a kiss under his ear. “Sounds good.”

“You're just humoring me.”

“I absolutely am.”

 

*

 

They do end up dressing up as greasers, although Louis leaves his shirt untucked because he's wearing a Bellaband under it. While he quiffs his hair in the mirror, Zayn sits on the bathroom floor with Mia and draws a cat nose and whiskers on her with a black brow pencil he's got.

Zayn calls Syena, who saves the holiday by bringing over three bulging Ralphs bags of candy and party favors. She gets a great candid photo of the three of them -- Louis is holding Mia on his hip, and he’s smiling at Zayn as he bends over her to rub a pencil smudge off her chin with his thumb. Louis puts it up on Instagram right away.

They take turns answering the door and tossing full-size Reese's and Kit Kats into kids’ plastic pumpkins, catching unhappy looks from their parents who probably wish they were handing out acai berries or something. The kids with food allergies get glow sticks, plastic vampire fangs and spider rings. Mia dutifully accompanies them every time the doorbell rings, and stands there clinging to their legs as they dig through the bag of candy.

Around nine p.m. they shut the front gate, put Mia to bed and retreat into the sitting room so they can finally start _Stranger Things_. Zayn gets bored quickly, finishes his beer and lays across Louis on the couch, then hikes his shirt up and starts drawing a spooky face on his belly with the brow liner.

Louis laughs, watching him.

“Shh,” Zayn whispers with a soft smile, gently easing the dark pencil around his belly button as he turns it into a mouth. “Don't move.”

“You're cute,” Louis murmurs.

His smile spreads, but he doesn't look up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hey, tonight wasn't so bad, was it?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah.”

He smooths his finger over Louis’ skin, fixing an errant line.

“What're you gonna do with this?” Louis says. “‘Cos when I go to sleep I'm gonna mess it all up.”

“I'm gonna put it on Snapchat.”

“Noo, don't show Snapchat my stretch marks...”

“What stretch marks?”

Louis points. He’s only got a few on his hips, but he's self-conscious, anyway.

“Christ, come on, those’re tiny,” Zayn scoffs. “I'll fill ‘em in, how's that?”

“That works.”

Zayn leans down and presses kisses to his hipbones. His lips are cold and wet from the beer. Louis squirms a bit.

“You're sexy,” Zayn murmurs tipsily.

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“You are. You're sexy when you're havin’ my baby. Hang on, that's a good lyric… _You're so sexy when you're having my baby…”_

“ _Please_ don't use that.”

He grins wickedly. “I am, I'm gonna make it a whole song.”

“No, no no,” Louis protests. “Think how embarrassed our kids are gonna be in fifteen years.”

Zayn laughs. “Fuck ‘em. They get to grow up rich. That's the price you pay.”

“ _Me_ , then.”

“Alright, for you, I'll table it.”

“Thanks, love.”

Zayn keeps drawing, shading the face in.

“D’you ever wish,” Louis murmurs sleepily, “that we were like… I dunno… back home? Not like, as who we are now, but like, what if the band never happened, and you and me met anyway, and we had a family?”

He considers this. “So… do I ever wish I was broke as shit? Not really, mate.”

Louis laughs. “I dunno, might be nice… we’d have a little house… I could sell weed or something, an’ stay home with the kids.”

“And then Zayn goes to work in the mines every day, loses a hand or two…”

“Noo, babe, you could teach school.” Louis studies his face, the line of his dark brow. “Remember how you wanted to teach?”

Zayn meets his eyes and nods. “Yeah. Reckon I could.”

“We could do music in our spare time... hang the laundry on a line out back… raise chickens. We could have a little garden.”

“We could have a garden here,” he points out, then takes the pencil between his teeth for a second as he uses both fingers to smudge a line.

“Right, but it's like… what's the point? There's a farmers market down the street with better stuff than I could ever grow.”

“Well, there you go, we don't need a garden.”

“I dunno what I'm saying, exactly. I dunno. I just think about that sometimes. A simpler life.”

There’s a fluttering inside him, and Zayn pauses.

“Was that baby?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, smiling dreamily. “You could feel it?”

“I could.” Zayn presses a few kisses to his belly. He's smiling too.

“Don't fuck up your work…”

“I’ll fix it. Hey, can it hear us yet?”

“Not quite yet. Round another month.”

He looks disappointed. “I wanna talk to it.”

“What’re you gonna tell it?”

“I wanna say hi.”

“That's it?”

Zayn laughs. “That's it.”

“Say it into me belly button.”

He laughs harder and lowers his face, so his lips graze Louis’ navel. “Hi baby, it's your daddy...”

Louis runs his fingers through Zayn’s hair. “Baby says hi back.”

“Oh yeah? How d’you know?”

“I just know. Got me maternal intuition.”

“It tell you if baby’s got any musical talent?”

Louis pretends to think very hard. “Gonna be a piano prodigy.”

He grins. “Your boy’s got Mozart sperm.”

“No,” he retorts. “I've got a Mozart womb.”

“Is that right?”

“That's right.”

Zayn leans up and presses a kiss to his lips. “We’re gonna have to have a bunch of babies, then. As a service to society.”

“Uh-huh,” Louis says, smiling.

“About eight or nine of ‘em.”

“Right, ‘course.”

Zayn yawns. “Wanna go cuddle and watch TV?”

“Take a picture of your art, here.”

“Right, right,” he says, digging his phone out of his pocket.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, NOVEMBER 1, 2016

“Ayyy,” Louis and Oli shout over to Calvin as he shuts the sliding glass door behind him and ambles over to where they're lying in the grass with Mia.

“Oi,” Calvin shouts back. “Took me ages to find your house.”

“You forget how to read, mate?” says Louis.

“Nah, my GPS had me going ‘round in circles, I hate these stupid hills up here…” He collapses next to them and holds his arms out. “Give me this massive fuckin’ baby. Last I saw her she was the size of a courgette.”

Louis passes Mia to him. She fusses a bit; she's not big on strangers.

“You missed her fat time,” Louis says. “Zooms around crawling now.”

“I swear she almost walked the other day,” Oli says. “She was standing up and she was about to, but then she saw me watching her and she was like, nah, can't do it with an audience, and falls right on her arse.”

“So, been having fun without me, lads?” Calvin says, and pokes Louis in the stomach. “Maybe a bit too much fun?”

“Ha, ha ha.”

“How far along are you?”

“Six months,” Oli says. “Seven?”

“Five!” Louis cries in offense.

“I could see seven,” Calvin says, squinting at him over his sunglasses.

“You know what, give me my fuckin’ baby back. You've forfeited your baby privileges.”

Calvin jokingly turns away, shielding her with his body. “I'm kidding, Tommo. You're as lovely and slender as ever.” He reaches out and squeezes his cheeks. Louis gives him the finger. “So where's this _husband_ of yours?”

“Inside,” Louis says. “Smoking with some of the blokes he's doing the Fifty Shades soundtrack with. Kygo and somebody else.”

Calvin makes a face as he hoists Mia in the air, making her giggle. “Fifty Shades, oy. Guess you’ve got to take skrilla where you can get it.”

“‘Sactly what I said,” Oli says.

“Uh-huh, I hear him cryin’ into his fat stacks every night,” Louis says sarcastically. “‘Oh, what have I done to meself… Oh, the shame...’”

“Ooh, touched a nerve about the missus,” Oli says.

“Whatever…” He doesn't like them making fun of Zayn. He's the only one who gets to do that.

Calvin laughs. “You got a football?”

Louis nods, reaches behind himself and tosses it to him. He and Oli get up and start nimbly passing it back and forth, trash talking each other’s form. Louis sits in the grass with Mia, watching jealously.

 

*

 

When Zayn finally comes up out of the basement den later in the night, having sent his guests off (Louis thinks they were probably in the home theater, watching an advance copy of the movie) he reeks of pot smoke and walking like he's been drinking.

He comes over to the conversation pit and climbs down to sit next to Louis. Calvin starts eyeing him.

“Yo,” Zayn says to no one in particular.

“Hey,” they all chorus.

“Za-ayn,” says Calvin, who's also been drinking. His voice isn't pleasant. “What you been up to, besides keeping Tommo pregnant?”

Louis sets his glass of water down on the table. Zayn snorts.

“Don't worry about Louis,” he slurs, and squeezes Louis’ thigh. “He loves babies.”

Louis shoots a look at him, but Zayn’s eyes are fixed on Calvin, glittering with annoyance. He gets that gnawing feeling again that he's been having so often in the last year: _where's the adult? Oh, it's me. I'm the adult._

“Yeah,” Calvin says. “Don't we all.”

“You got something you want to say to me?” Zayn says shortly.

“Dunno,” Calvin says. “Just find it funny how I finally visit here and Tommo’s like, been turned into a fuckin’ housewife.”

“Alright, that's enough,” Louis snaps at him. “I'm not any fuckin’ housewife. You've been here all of three hours, mate, watch it.”

The monitor lying on the table crackles to life with the sound of Mia crying. Louis picks it up, relieved, and goes to tend to her in the nursery.

“Hey baby,” he says, gathering her into his arms and kissing her fuzzy little head. She coos and begins to soothe herself. “Hey, little angel… you're alright...”

Louis stands there in the dark, rocking her. As his eyes adjust, he picks out patterns in the vintage wallpaper they chose for this room. Giraffes riding bicycles, elephants conducting orchestras.

The door creaks behind him. Louis turns and sees Zayn in the doorway.

He stretches his hands out to Louis, and Louis passes their baby over, then goes and takes a seat on the cot by the window.

He watches as Zayn makes his way to the middle of the room, bouncing and rocking her gently in his arms.

Louis smooths his hands over his belly. The baby’s giving him little kicks near his bladder. “Stop that,” he mutters, shifting in discomfort on the bed.

“Huh?”

“Not you.”

“Could've called off your dogs,” Zayn says. “I didn't do anythin’ to deserve that.”

“I did! I told him off!”

“You didn't defend me. You defended yourself.”

“Sorry, what? I said I wasn't your little housewife.”

“That's not how I interpreted it.”

“And they're not my _dogs_. Oli likes you plenty, you two hang out all the time.”

Zayn says nothing, continuing to bounce.

“Look, Calvin just misses me. He just misses partying with me and doing fun shit and drugs, is all. Shit I'm never gonna do again, not the same way I used to. And he's acting out about it.”

“I guess,” Zayn mutters.

“You get what it's like.” Louis decides against pointing out that Zayn hasn't given up partying nearly as much as he has.

“‘Course. Yeah. I miss doing that shit with you too.”

“Look, you know I like my new life. I love you. I love our kid. I love this mango I'm growing here.”

Zayn softens and gives him a little laugh, though his jaw stays tight.

“I don't want people thinking, like, you've got no choice but to stick around,” he says. “‘Cos that ain't us. We're a team.”

“I know. I hate when people don't get that either.”

Zayn lowers Mia back into the crib. She's got one of her fleece-lined little onesies on; it's got a polar bear stitched on the front.

“Budge up,” he murmurs, coming over to Louis on the cot, and then he slips his arms under him and pulls him onto his lap with a soft groan.

“Heavy?” Louis teases him.

“Nah,” Zayn says, kissing him on the side of the neck.

He takes Zayn’s hand and places it where he last felt movement. They wait there in the thick darkness, listening to their daughter’s soft breathing a few feet away. Then there's a tiny foot pressing against both their palms, and Louis feels warm affection rising in his chest. Zayn smiles.

“If you can make it to the next appointment, I'll have ‘em tell us the sex."

Zayn draws his fingers together against the firm curve of his stomach, bunching his shirt up, then spreads them out again. “Yeah? Sick, just lemme know what day.”

“Wanna place bets? I think it'll be a girl again.”

“I'm gonna say boy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just ‘cos I want a boy.”

Louis laughs. “I do too, actually.”

“Alright. Two bets on boy, then.”

“Nah, my bet’s still on girl, I've got a feeling.”

“Probably be best,” Zayn says. “What the fuck do we know about bringing up a boy?”

“Start him early on the tattoos, for one.”

“Oh, yeah, like age four at the minimum.”

Louis laughs again, burying his face against Zayn’s throat.

“Can we do, like, an interview?” Zayn says. His chest rumbles against Louis’ back. “Like -- the both of us do a profile in a nice magazine and just sorta come clean about shit, and be honest. I dunno …”

“That's a good idea,” Louis murmurs. “That's smart.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

 

NOVEMBER 3, 2016

 **Oh No They Didn't!**  
Celebrity Gossip With Commentary

One Direction alums married and expecting again, friends say

November 4th, 2016, 08:13 pm

 

_Congratulations all around seem to be in order for Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson!_

_After Tomlinson, 24, was snapped outside his home appearing to sport not only a baby bump, but also a gold band on his ring finger, several insiders came forward to confirm the former One Direction singers had quietly tied the knot and were again expecting._

_An insider tells E! exclusively that the pregnancy was “an unexpected blessing.”_

_“They obviously didn't plan to have another so soon,” the source told us, “but they're happy about it. Both of them had big families growing up, and they're not intimidated.”_

_The couple welcomed daughter Mia in January of this year._

_Reps for the pop stars did not immediately return a request for comment. In an April interview with NME, Malik, 23, said that he and Tomlinson had discussed marriage and were open to the possibility._

_“I mean, when you have a kid, it comes up,” he said. “We’re both young, though. We don't have like, concrete plans. It's just something we've talked about.”_

_Last week, TMZ reported that fellow One Direction alum Liam Payne was expecting with girlfriend Cecilia Marino. Looks like it's a very joyful year for the former boybanders!_

TAGS: _one direction, british celebrities_

 

COMMENTS (489)

**wudukar**

November 3 2017, 03:30:50 UTC

_Omg is this for real? Poor Louis LOL_

**moon_y**

November 3 2017, 03:31:02 UTC

_Sooo… between this and the liam news, 1d’s never getting back together, right_

**beenie**

November 3 2017, 03:31:13 UTC

_why does a beautiful specimen like zayn keep impregnating this bargain basement white boy smh idk if i should be jealous or embarrassed_

**yokitoki9**

November 3 2017, 03:31:37 UTC

_Am I the only one who’s excited about this? Their daughter is so cute!_

NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 4, 2016

The funny thing was, Harry and Liam had planned to hang out ages ago. They had worked it out very carefully, for a day Liam wouldn't be in the studio and was just hanging around the city, and Harry would be at The Plaza with his Dunkirk pals for a soirée they were throwing themselves.

Then the news about Louis broke. Harry texted him a link to the E! article while Liam was sitting in the back of a town car, headed to a label meeting.

They both already knew, of course. Niall had told them, because Niall was good like that. He called Liam before anyone else, and had to leave him a voicemail, because he was in the audience at one of Cecilia's friends plays -- phone off, blissfully unaware.

“Hey,” Niall’s tinny, recorded voice said as he stood there in the windy alley outside the theater, bottom of his phone angled to his ear. “Just thought you ought to know… Tommo and Zayn got married today, and they're havin’ another baby. Uh… Yeah.” Pause. “Text me, lad.”

Liam, heartsick, deleted it after listening to it twice, texted Niall _thanks for the heads up_ and has tried not to think about it since.

But the E! article brought it all back again in sharp relief. Liam sat there as his car rolled through the cobblestone streets of DUMBO, feeling his gut clenching again just like it had months ago.

There's only four pictures of Louis. Paps must have somehow snuck into their gated complex, gotten of a handful of shots in a hurry and dashed off before the cops were called. He wouldn't be surprised if Louis sues.

The shots show him bending down outside the front gate to their house, clipping a leash onto their dog, whose coat is glowing like a new penny in the California sunshine. Then him straightening up -- he's wearing a sweatshirt, but you can tell by the way it catches in front. His face is rounder again, like it was last year. Liam feels a spasm of tender protectiveness toward him, one he instantly jettisons.

And, finally, only visible in the last shot, is a wedding ring glowing on Louis’ left hand. It has diamonds in, and they reflect the light in spears.

Liam stared at these photos until he couldn't breathe. Then he texted Harry, _Ah so it's out then_

 _Looks like it_ , Harry said back.

_still on for tomorrow?_

_Yeah_ , Harry said, after typing for a while. _Excited to see you mate._

 

*

 

There's awful traffic all the way downtown. Liam rests his forehead against the tinted window, trying to relieve his headache with the cold glass, watching all the passerby who can't watch him back.

He had a dream last night about Louis, right before he got up. He ran into him at a restaurant in Los Angeles, but Louis didn't see him, couldn't hear him. It was like he was a ghost. He could only stand frozen as Louis sat there smiling, chatting with Zayn across the table, happy, pregnant. And then Liam's teeth began to crumble painfully in his mouth.

He woke up with his jaw throbbing. He must have been grinding. He forgot to wear his mouthguard.

Cecilia kissed him good morning. “You were tossing and turning a lot, honey,” she said with concern. He told her sorry, kissed her, smoothed back her sleek dark hair.

 

*

 

Harry isn't doing so hot, either.

Liam meets him at the penthouse room he's got at the Plaza. As he's walking from the elevator down the gilted hallway, he spots Harry ushering some young bloke with a hickey on his neck out of his room.

“Car’s right out front, you said?” the bloke says, shrugging his jacket on.

“Yep,” Harry says, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “It'll take you wherever, no questions asked.”

“Thanks.”

“‘Course.”

“I'll walk you down,” one of Harry’s security guys says, leaving his post by the side of the door. The kid nods gratefully.

Everyone spots Liam at the same time. The kid looks panicked, and Liam smiles gently at him, like, _don't worry about me._ He’s very handsome, probably a model; he doesn't look any older than twenty.

Liam heads over to Harry, who opens his arms for a hug. They pat each other roughly on the back. Harry smells like expensive cologne, something with notes of orange.

“Cutting it a bit close with that, mate,” Liam says with a laugh, glancing at his watch. “I was supposed to be here a half hour ago.”

“I know, I was getting a drink downstairs waiting for you, and then he comes up to me…” Harry smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck.

“Where's your costars?” Liam says, following Harry into his lush, gleaming suite, tossing his suit jacket onto an armchair by the door.

“Still at the bar,” Harry calls. He's kneeling at the minibar in the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of Dom and two glasses for them. “It's just Cillian and Fionn here so far.”

He comes back over to Liam, who's taken a seat on the sitting room couch, and pours him some champagne.

“So, how's Ceci?” Harry says, settling in a chair across from him, crossing his long legs.

“She's great, she's brilliant,” Liam says. “We’re both, um, we’re fantastic. Staying busy with work. Really excited for the baby.”

He’s bouncing his leg, he realizes. He stops. He doesn't need to be anxious -- he does, truly, mean everything he's saying. It's just his chest is also so, so tight right now.

“You seem like you're doing great,” Liam offers. “Got a foot in a bit of everything.”

Harry gives him a little smile. “Yeah, y’know. It's exciting to be able to, like...” He trails off. “Sorry,” he says abruptly. “Roger gave me some coke, I just started feeling it. Wanna play darts?”

“I'm game,” Liam says.

There's a dartboard in the bedroom, as it turns out. It's the only brown thing in the room; everything else is white, with notes of pearl and gold. Liam remembers the whole band staying at the Plaza a couple years ago, but their rooms weren't quite this nice.

Harry hands Liam a few darts. “So,” he says. The coke is making him tense up in the mouth and shoulders. “What do you think came first, marriage or second baby carriage?”

It takes Liam a moment to twig. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, I dunno.”

“Because Niall told us they got married in, what, August?”

“September.”

Harry throws a dart that misses the board completely and embeds itself firmly in the wall.

“Oh,” he says drily, “oops. I'll have them charge that to my room. Right, September. And Louis looked pretty far along in those photos.”

“I reckon,” Liam mutters. He goes over and tries to pull the dart out, but Harry threw it with his freaky strongman force, and it's fairly well in there.

Harry comes over apologetically and wrenches it out of the wall with a grunt, then hands it to him.

“You alright?” Liam says, as he walks away to sit on the bed.

Harry looks up at him with large pupils, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “I'm fine,” he says huskily.

“Have you talked to him at all?” Liam says. “Said congratulations? Anything?”

“Who?”

“Louis.”

Harry’s eyes glitter. “I sent a card when he had the first kid. Nothing since. Why?”

“You should.”

“Have you?”

“No,” Liam says, “but it's different. I almost fucked things up for him and Zayn, so I backed off.”

“That was like, a year ago now,” Harry points out.

“Well, if he wanted to get back in touch, I'd be happy to. I just dunno if me reaching out would be appropriate.”

“I don't want to talk to him,” Harry says, “and he doesn't want to talk to me. So it's a mutually beneficial situation.”

“What about the band?”

Harry looks at him like he’s just said, “But what about the dinosaurs?”

“I was surprised, honestly,” he says, “when you didn't keep fighting for Louis.”

“That wouldn't’ve been right,” Liam says. “That would’ve been so immoral.”

“But you were in love with him.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, shrugging. “I loved him, and I let him know that, and he asked me to please go away and let him try and make it work with Zayn. So I stopped making it hard for him.” He clears his throat. “Out of love. I still love him. In the way of like, you know. Like, he's family to me, all of you always will be. But I've moved on, I have my own family.”

Harry shakes his head, his coiffed hair bouncing. The pale yellow light streaming in the slit between the curtains is making him look handsome but sickly, like he's in a period movie and dying of consumption.

“D’you really think it's going to work between them?” he says, getting up and going over to the bureau, where there's a little baggie with a scarce amount of coke in it. He shakes it onto the crease between his thumb and forefinger, then snorts it. “I don't. Steve told me Zayn says they still fight like crazy sometimes. And they've gone and brought two kids into it, now.”

“Haz,” Liam says gently, “are you sure you're good? You’ve been on this clean-living kick, and I thought you wanted to start actually dating again --”

“And now I’m doing coke and fucking guys I met in bars?” Harry tilts his head, smiling. “Really, I'm fine. Been working hard, is all. Now I'm blowing off steam. And then I’ll work hard some more.”

“It’s alright if you're not totally over Zayn, yet. I know there's like…” He weighs his words carefully. “A grief.”

Harry always thought Zayn would wait for him. Liam knows that, they all know that. They all thought he would, too. Until everything went topsy-turvy.

“I actually don't even know who the fuck Zayn is anymore,” Harry says. “And more importantly, I don't care.”

He draws close to Liam again, using his height like a weapon, then takes one of the darts out of his hand.

“So, Payno,” Harry says cheerfully, and throws a bullseye. Suddenly he's back in himself, the clouds have parted, the charm has been turned back on like a switch was flipped. “Fill me in about what you're doing with your music, I wanna hear all about it.”

 

LOS ANGELES, NOVEMBER 8, 2016

“Last chance to raise your bet,” Louis says to Zayn, glancing up at him.

Zayn squeezes his hand. “Twenty thou that it's a boy. To whatever charity I like.”

“Twenty five it's a girl, to whatever charity _I_ like.”

He whistles. “Alright, mate, you sure?”

Evelin smiles and shakes an errant dark curl out of her face. “You guys ready?”

“Yeah, go on,” Louis says.

She moves the ultrasound wand a bit higher up on him. He winces at the cold. The doppler shifts and changes.

“Well,” Evelin says, her eyes flicking across the screen. “Looks like you owe your husband some money, Louis.”

Zayn’s grip on him tightens, and Louis’ heart jumps. “Seriously?”

Evelin nods, flashing a dimple. “Yep. You've got yourselves a boy.”

Zayn laughs in delight and bends over Louis, kissing him all over his face. Louis sits there in shock, reaching up to stroke Zayn’s face, staring at the image of the ultrasound.

“Holy shit,” he exclaims. “I was so sure it'd be another girl.”

“You can write me a check,” Zayn says in between kisses. “I'll also take cash.”

Louis starts to laugh, a sort of joyful, disbelieving little laugh.

When they're all finished and Louis is getting dressed, Zayn steps out to have a slash. Evelin snaps her gloves off into the trash and looks up at him, squinting against the sunny day streaming in her office window.

“You two are so sweet together,” she says. “I’m really glad things worked out for you, Louis.”

Louis pushes up his sleeves. “Yeah, yeah, me too,” he says, and clears his throat. “So, no pre-eclampsia?”

“Not that I've been able to tell, yet,” she says. “I'm keeping a close eye, but it seems like a totally healthy pregnancy to me. Your blood pressure looks good. You can relax.”

“I'm not much the relaxing type.”

“Well, give it a try anyway. Maybe try meditating?”

He barks out a laugh.

“Aw, come on!” Her gleaming white teeth sparkle when she smiles. “Do it for baby.”

“Right.” He straightens up a bit, smoothing the front of his jumper down.

“Are you taking any birthing classes, or anything?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nah. I didn't with the first one, either.”

“It's not too late,” she says, and hands him a stack of brochures.

He takes them politely, but he can't imagine any place he and Zayn would less want to be than a class full of rich L.A. yuppies ten years older than them, talking about their doulas and their cleanses.

In the hall, he finds Zayn coming out of the toilet, drying his hands on his jeans.

"Hey," Louis says, smiling at him, feeling all warm inside. 

Zayn smiles back and comes over to him, wrapping his arms around him. "Hi there."

Louis kisses him tenderly, and then pulls back. They gaze at each other, dizzily cross-eyed. "You happy?"

Zayn kisses him on his scratchy, sleepy-pregnant-and-too-tired-to-shave cheek. "I'm over the moon."

"Yeah?"

"God, yeah."

"Over the moon enough to make a stop on the way home?"

Zayn laughs. "For what?"

"Food."

"We've got food."

"You know I never have cravings, you can indulge me once or twice..."

"Alright, alright. For what?"

"Fried chicken. And also gingerbread."

"So... two stops."

"'Less we can get those in the same place."

"I know for a fact we can't, 'cos I know you want to go to KFC, which doesn't sell gingerbread."  

"Well, that's their fuckin' bad, ain't it?"

Zayn wraps an arm around his shoulders and starts leading him down the hall. Louis slips an arm around his waist. "Yeah, reckon they lose millions a year off that decision."

 

BEVERLY HILLS, NOVEMBER 15, 2017

Louis is taking out the trash when he spots it across the street, through the bars of the gate -- a lens peeking out of the tinted driver’s side window of a parked car. The window quickly rolls up as soon as he spots he camera.

He storms down the driveway, buzzes the gate open and stomps across the street over to the car, banging on the window.

At first, there's no response, but he bangs again, and the window slowly comes down, revealing a smiling paparazzi. It's Nikos, who he's been seeing around quite a bit lately, and who he's generally friendly with.

“Louis,” he says, placatingly. “How are you? How's the baby?”

“You're on private property,” Louis snaps.

The bloke in the passenger seat runs his hand through his graying hair and looks anxiously at Nikos.

“I kno-ow,” Nikos says, “but a friend of ours let us in, and we just wanted to stop by…”

“This is illegal, mate.”

“Louis, Louis… Hey, what's the baby's name? You got a name yet? Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Fuck off!”

Nikos pouts at him. “Do I not do right by you and Zayn? Do I not work your angles?”

“Did you shoot me and my daughter earlier?”

He had taken Mia outside with him about an hour ago when he was pruning some of the elephant ear plants that grow along the front of the house; she sat in the dirt playing with Hot Wheels while he worked.

Nikos hesitates.

“Did you?” he hisses.

“Louis, what's the problem? They're cute photos!”

Louis hits the side of the car, and both paps jump in their seats. “That's not the fuckin’ point and you know it! An’ I'm tired of you guys coming in here! It's a gated community! Shooting me and my ‘usband comin’ out of a restaurant downtown is one thing, but this is different and you know it! This is stalking and harassment! And that's my fuckin’ kid!”

“Look,” Nikos says, soothingly. “Why don't we all calm down. You shouldn't get so worked up, in your condition.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. I know you were the one who shot those photos of me a couple months ago.”

He plays innocent. “What photos?”

“The ones everyone used to confirm I'm pregnant, daft arse!”

Nikos gestures toward his middle. “You can’t really blame me for people finding out you were pregnant.”

“I do blame you,” Louis snaps, tugging his sweatshirt down in the front. “And I want you out of here in the next minute, or I'm calling the police.”

“Okay,” Nikos says agreeably, starting the car. “Step back, I don't want to run over your toes.”

Louis glares at him, but takes a few steps back. He watches as they drive away, holding his middle finger up in front of his face so they can't snap any photos of him out the back window as they go, then writes their license number down in his notes app and heads back into the house.

He finds Zayn in the den, chilling on the couch with Mia resting on his chest while he reads a book. The TV is going in the background.

“Isn't that distracting?” Louis says, coming down the stairs, ambling over and settling next to him on the leather couch with a groan. His back has been killing him this week.

Zayn shakes his head. “I like the background noise.”

Louis reaches out and strokes Mia’s head, smoothing down the waves in her inky hair. “There were paps out front,” he mutters. “Nikos again. And somebody else.”

“Christ,” Zayn says. “You get rid of ‘em?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You could've called me.”

“‘S’alright. I didn't need backup.”

“What do we do about this? Can we, like, hire a sniper?”

Louis laughs and smooths his hands over his belly. “If only.”

“Just sit on top of the garage, like… pop pop. Nobody’d miss ‘em.”

“What’re you reading?”

Zayn shows him the cover. “One of our parenting books.”

“Oh yeah? Learn anything?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Mostly just that my own parents fucked everything up.”

Louis laughs. “I reckon I should call the cops, file a report,” he says. “I got their plate.”

“His plate?” Zayn grins. “Look at detective inspector Tommo over here.”

“Well, I remembered I don't know his bloody last name, so.”

“I can call,” Zayn says, yawning.

“You don't have to do everything for me, love.”

“I want to! What’s a husband for?”

“But I'm _your_ husband, too.”

Zayn shrugs. “I dunno. Unstoppable husband meets an immovable husband.”

Louis smiles at him, finding this endearing for some reason. He likes it when they call each other husband. “Who's which?”

“I'm immovable,” he murmurs. “You're unstoppable.”

Louis cuddles up to him on the couch, and Zayn wraps an arm around him. Mia makes a soft coo in her sleep, and Louis reaches out and ever so gently presses his fingertip to her nose.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, NOVEMBER 20, 2016

The day the _Vanity Fair_ writer is scheduled to come dawns with the worst Los Angeles morning imaginable: steel grey skies, pissing down rain, the radio reporting accidents on the freeway as people rush to the airport to fly out before Thanksgiving.

Louis tosses the curtains open at eight sharp, like the little maniac that he is. “Beautiful,” he chirps, as he lets the grim light pour in. “Looks like home for once.”

Zayn rolls onto his other side, groaning and pulling the covers over himself. “Baby,” he says, in his most tender, cosseting voice, “you know we don't have t’ be up ‘til like, noon? Why don't you come back to bed?”

“No,” Louis says, and he comes over and yanks the sheets off Zayn.

“OI,” Zayn shouts, rolling over as the chilly air pours over him. “Hey! Hey hey hey!”

“Let’s get up and have a nice breakfast,” Louis says, “and that way we aren't rushing around, and we can dress the baby up all cute, an’ look, like, half-presentable, like we've got our shit together.”

“We have got our shit together, most days,” Zayn mutters, his voice muffled in the bedspread.

Louis’ tattooed fingers dig between his ribs and his arms, trying to pull him in a sitting position. “Yeah, yeah… get up, move along…”

Zayn groans and sits up, pulling the duvet over his shoulders and blinking against the bright bedroom lights.

He turns, watching Louis pick up Mia out of her crib and settle with her into their soft suede armchair. He softens, looking at him; Louis is round and rosy like an apple, glowing in a red dressing gown he's got on over his pajamas, and their daughter is babbling sleepily, her dark hair curling over her ears.

“Good mornin’, little family,” he murmurs.

Louis glances up at him with shining, sweet blue eyes. “Hi,” he says, and waves Mia’s little hand at him.

Mia looks up at Zayn with the same eyes. “Ba ba,” she says to him.

“Dada,” he corrects.

“Ba ba.”

“Dada,” he says, getting up and going in the loo to splash cologne on and fix his hair.

There's a pause, then he hears Mia’s little voice go “Ba ba,” and Louis’ sweet laugh rings out.

 

*

 

Zayn goes through four or five different outfits before he’s satisfied. He finally settles on a dark tee and dark jeans, silver rings and a silver necklace to accent the new silver hair, and decides to go sock-footed, so he doesn't seem like he's uncomfortable in his own house.

He pads down their long walk-in closet to find Louis eyeing himself from every angle in a three-paneled full-length mirror.

“Think that's as good as it'll get,” Louis mutters.

Zayn reaches out and ruffles his hair, squints at him, then messes it up even more.

Louis starts laughing. “The fuck you doing to me?”

“You’re cute when you’re rumply.”

Louis is dressed sporty -- Adidas tapped him a few months ago to be an unofficial face of their new maternity for men line, and dumped a truckload of maternity athleisure wear on him that he's expected to wear to any sporting events he goes to, or even when he's going to appear in a somebody’s Snap story kicking a ball around. He's wearing more of it today, even though they aren't being photographed for the spread until next week.

Louis pushes his sleeves up. “I _am_ rumply, I'm always rumply. Why d’you look so put together?”

“I don't,” Zayn says, looking down at his sock feet.

“You’re annoying,” Louis informs him. “Be less handsome.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, wraps his arms firmly around him and blows a raspberry on his neck; Louis giggles and struggles.

“Don't cover up,” he mutters, kissing him roughly on his stubbly cheek. “Wear something tighter. You keep lookin’ like you're trying to hide the baby.”

“I couldn't if I tried!”

“Then why are you-u?” Zayn sings.

Louis heaves a sigh. "I'm just nervous about this interview."

Zayn doesn't entirely mean to say it, but it comes out anyway: “You're happy about the baby, right?”

“What're you talking about?” Louis twists out of his arms so he can look at him. “‘Course I am.”

“It's just, like,” Zayn says. “You seem worn-down."

Louis shrugs. “I am worn-down,” he says. “I'm pregnant again, we've got a baby who ain't even a year old and just started sleeping through the night, I only just stopped throwing up all the time, I’ve got like, whiplash from quitting smoking again --”

Zayn struggles to express what he wants to say.

“I don't blame _you_ for any of that,” Louis says, glancing up at him. 

“That's not really what I'm talking about, like. You're embarrassed,” Zayn says. He goes over and sits in the bottom of one of the closets; Louis follows him and hovers, arms folded.

“Yeah, I am,” he says tersely. “A bit. ‘Cos people’ve called me trash and a slut nonstop since the day they found out about Mia, so you can imagine how it's gotten, like, exponentially worse. And I'm afraid there's going to be a backlash to this interview."

“I see that shit, too. An’ I get the other end of it.”

Louis rubs his temple. “I know you do, love.”

“Our kids are the important thing.”

“I know they are.”

“Don't be embarrassed about our son, then.”

“I never would be,” Louis says, dropping his hand to his middle and looking at him with soft eyes. “Never, mate.”

“Then you're embarrassed of us.”

“No! I just thought that me life would be different... That making it out and being a success would mean, y’know, I’d get a free pass to not hit certain potholes.”

This stings. “So your life with me is a _pothole_.”

Louis slowly and gingerly lowers himself to the floor, then presses his hands to his eyes. “Babe,” he groans. “You're taking it all wrong. You don't know what it's like to have to worry about getting pregnant.”

“I came from a tough place just like you! I know what a fuckin’ miracle it is that we are where we are!”

“But you don't feel the shame over all this like I do! ‘Cos nobody thinks of this as your fault like they do with me! On the tour, when it first came out, I used to walk into rooms and people on our team would suddenly stop whispering, ‘cos they'd been talking about me. I heard Sam talking to somebody from Modest once backstage before a show, like, _Why doesn't he just get an abortion. God, this is embarrassing, God this is bad for the brand._ _Why didn't we have him on birth control._ Like I was their misbehaved mutt dog that ran off and came back pregnant. It was completely mortifyin’.” He swallows. “And before I left, all these mums of fans writing petitions to have me taken off the tour, that they didn't want their kids to see me up there like that, that it was a bad example, like I was dirty an’ tainted and just this, this trashy low-class fuckin’ embarrassment next to these three nice kids, these good boys -- you were the only one who was like me, and you were gone --”

His voice catches in his throat, and he stops talking. Zayn sits down on the floor next to him, rubbing his back.

“And this baby just proves them right about me,” he says. “That Mia wasn't a fluke.”

“It's just classism, Louis, it ain't right or real --”

“We don't need to -- we both know what we're talking about, here.”

Zayn doesn't want to argue with him when he's upset, so he quiets.

“This shit just gets at me, after a while," Louis murmurs. "I get tired of people telling me who I am."

“You never talk about it.”

“‘Cos it hurts...”

“Who else are you gonna hurt with? I'm your husband.”

Louis doesn't answer.

 

*

 

The writer is named Hayley, very friendly and only a bit older than they are. She’s a tall redhead who’s got quite a bit of cleavage going on; Louis catches Zayn looking, although he supposes he was looking too.

“Your house is fantastic,” she exclaims as she traipses through the entryway, pulling out a recorder and a little notebook. “Wow.”

“Thanks, love,” Louis calls after her.

“Living room okay for us to start talking?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “It's down the hall there.”

They settle into the conversation pit, and Zayn lights a fire. The storm is still lashing the windows outside; Hayley is damp despite only having a fifteen-foot run from her car to their front door.

“So, Louis!” Hayley says brightly. “How are _you-u…_ ”

He lifts his eyebrows and blinks at her, because she says this in a sort of winkingly significant way, and then he remembers about the baby.

“Oh, I’m aces,” he says, cupping his palm to his middle and leaning against Zayn, who slips an arm around him. “Yeah, fine. Just puking loads. That on the record?”

She laughs. “If you want it to be. When are you due, if you don't mind me asking?”

“April,” Zayn starts to say, as Louis says, “March,” and Zayn winces apologetically. “Right, March.”

Down the hall, Louis hears the nanny talking quietly to Mia and shutting the lid on the washing machine. Mia babbles eagerly back to her.

“So tell me a little about what your day-to-day is like,” Hayley says, sliding the recorder toward them.

Zayn pulls his phone out of his pocket with the voice memo app running, and puts it right next to hers. “Just in case,” he says.

“Yeah, everyone does that now,” she assures him.

“Fake news an’ all that,” Louis says.

She laughs. “Right.”

Louis inhales and wriggles in Zayn’s arms, which are sort of tight around him. “Zayn’s been doing a lot of work this year promoting his album, and this new song he's got…” He bites his lip and squints. “And… I've been… Hangin’ out?”

Zayn snorts. “Louis’ sort of full of shit about himself,” he says.

“Oh, cheers, love.”

“Aye, well, you are. He's been doin’ a lot of charity work this year…” Zayn slips his calloused hand over top of Louis’. “He's been taking meetings about solo stuff. He’s helped me out with shit -- like, career decisions I've had to make.”

“Not -- not _really_ , mate…”

“Yeah you have, shut up.” Zayn kisses him forcefully on the side of the head. “And he's been raising the kid. And, y’know. Making a new one.”

“Yeah, bein’ pregnant,” Louis murmurs with a little smile, “quite complicated stuff, no one’s ever done it before.”

Hayley seems charmed by this light bickering. “So you two got married recently?”

“Oh, yeah,” Louis says. “In September.”

“Tell me more about that.” She clicks her pen.

Zayn starts to rub Louis’ back. “Uh… well…”

“We just really wanted to, so,” Louis says. “Sometimes you’ve just sort of got to go and… you know. Do it.”

“So you just eloped?”

“We’re going to go up and visit our families over Christmas,” Louis says, “an’, uh…” He rubs at his facial hair. “Like, do a real ceremony and a little reception. So we've been planning that. But we found out about this one…” He indicates his middle. “And we thought, y’know, better get moving on that, right? Get it done.”

There's a beat of silence while Hayley scribbles.

“Sorry, I’m making that sound not at all romantic,” Louis quickly adds. “We did really want to get married. I'm out of practice with this.” He’s also exhausted, and jonesing for a cigarette.

Zayn snorts and squeezes the back of his neck.

Hayley winks at him. “I can go ahead and not put that stuff in.”

“Leave the bit in about the ceremony in England,” Zayn says in his sleepy, husky voice, rubbing at Louis’ back again. “Just nowt of Louis making it sound like we only got married ‘cos I knocked him up again.”

Louis laughs. “Yeah, exactly.”

“No, I'm sure no one thinks that,” Hayley says. “You guys are really very sweet together, I can tell you're…” She clasps her hands together. “Simpatico. I did have some questions that might be a little uncomfortable. I was going to save them for later in the afternoon, but since we're already in that kind of territory...”

Zayn tenses up.

“Go for it,” Louis says breezily.

Hayley smoothes a strand of her coppery hair behind her ear. “So there was kind of some…” She gestures like she's playing with an invisible Hoberman sphere. “Drama, last year, with you guys? I don't believe it was publicly addressed by you as a couple. I understand if you'd like to leave it that way, but it might be worth giving your fans a little insight.”

Louis pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Yeah, what specifically?”

“Well, Zayn, you had a kind of abrupt end to your engagement --”

“That's blacklisted,” Zayn snaps. “That's not up for questions.”

Hayley, unmoved, raises an eyebrow and takes a peek at her phone. “No, I have you guys’s blacklist right here. Harry Styles, the Larry thing, drug use --”

“Perrie’s on there.”

“Noope.”

She hands him her phone, which displays an email from his agent.

“You know what,” Louis says, “I still consider Perrie a friend, and it was just a really shitty unfortunate situation, and people don't know the whole of it, and let's just leave it at that.”

“I can print that?”

“Yeah.”

Zayn tosses her phone back to her in clear annoyance.

“You guys also had a pretty public feud,” she says, flipping to a new page in her notebook and looking up at Louis.

Zayn scoffs, gets up and walks away. She and Louis stare at each other as he thumps down the hall in his sock feet, light like a panther.

“He’ll be back,” Louis says lightly. “Uhh, yeah. Yeah we did.”

He folds his arms and goes quiet for a while, trying to formulate a response.

“I think we were both really hurting, at the time,” he says, “for different reasons, and obviously we had broken up and weren't speaking, and people didn't know that side of it. He wasn't, um, aware at the time that I was pregnant.”

“But you knew?”

“Yeah. Yeah. And, yeah, it really stung, what he said. But he apologized and made it up to me. So… some things you just sort of have to move past.”

“How did he make it up to you?” she says, scribbling in her pad.

Louis finds, suddenly, that his eyes are burning with tears.

“Just, y’know.” He clenches his jaw to hold them back. “I had to leave the tour for health reasons, and he took care of me, when I came home --”

_Did he, though? Did he? Yeah, in December. But before that? It's not his fault. I didn't want to let him. I was still in love with Liam._

A tear escapes.

“Sorry,” he exhales. “Been crying all the time lately. Hormones.”

Hayley shakes her head. “Don't worry, take your time.”

“He loves me,” Louis mutters, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and wiping at his eyes. “And the kids. He's a good dad.”

Hayley nods and then says, rather indelicately, “So how did you forgive him for leaving the band?”

Louis swallows and fixes her with a look. “‘Scuse me,” he says, getting to his feet.

He finds Zayn in the kitchen, sitting at the island, talking quietly with Syena. Louis didn't even know she was here. They both look up as he walks in.

“Hey,” Louis says.

“Oh, now she's making you cry?” Zayn says. “Fuck this.”

“Leave it,” Louis mutters, opening the fridge.

“I'll let you two talk,” Syena says, and ducks out into the hallway.

Nothing inside interests him; he shuts it back up. “Let’s just go back in and tell her to skip to the softballs,” he says.

“I'm not workin’ with them again,” Zayn snaps. “Fuck it. This is it.”

“Fine, then we won't, but we've got to finish this one first.”

“Why? Why not call it off?”

“‘Cos _I_ don't like burning bridges with people who can help me!” Louis hisses at him.

Zayn stares at him. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just come back in. Will you stop fuckin’ stressing me out when I'm pregnant?”

“Oh, you’re always fuckin’ usin’ that to win arguments!”

“ _Using_ it? Fucking hell, Zayn!”

Zayn runs his fingers through his hair and keeps staring down at his phone, his eyes dark with anger.

“Can you look at me?”

He drags his gaze up to Louis.

“Let’s go,” Louis mouths.

They return, stiff-jawed, and settle back onto the couch with a little distance between them this time. Hayley seems to get the hint.

“So,” she says, beaming, “tell me more about this beautiful house!”

 

BEVERLY HILLS, DECEMBER 18, 2016

“You should have called me first off, if you wanted someone to be nice to you two!” Nick exclaims. “This article’s a total hit piece, Tommo, Jesus, it makes you look like Sharon and Ozzy!”

“It's not _that_ bad,” Louis moans into the phone, resting his forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet lid. “It's not a hit piece, you're being melodramatic. The interview went way worse than she made it sound, honestly.”

“Seriously? ‘Cos I'm looking at it on my desk right now --”

“Zayn stormed out halfway through ‘cos she kept needlin’ him about Perrie and the band, and then she asked me about our Twitter fight, and I started crying and stormed out too.”

“Tommo,” Nick says incredulously.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Hang on a sec...” He takes the phone off speaker and sets it down on the carpet, heaving into the toilet, but nothing comes up. He picks he phone back up. “Want to have us on the show when we’re up for Christmas? Bit of damage control?”

“That's fairly short notice,” Nick says. “I dunno, I might be able to figure something out.”

“We’d appreciate it,” Louis mutters, the muscles in his gut fluttering with thwarted nausea. “We’re a good get, right?”

“Can I talk to Zayn?”

“Ain't here.” He rubs at his temples. “He’s doing Seacrest’s show.”

“Oh, his majesty finally decided to grace him with his presence, did he?”

“Please, Nick, I'm not in the mood to play defense.”

“What's wrong? You don't sound great.”

“Been puking all morning.”

“Still? Aren't you like, about to drop that kid?”

“Not ‘til March.”

“Shouldn't you be done throwing up, though?”

“Normally. Doctor says I just got unlucky with this one.”

“Poor Lou-Lou.”

Louis pushes his fringe back with a trembly hand. “I’ll live.”

 

*

 

He’s lying in bed Zayn gets home, a miserable waif with the trash can at his bedside. He left Mia in her crib with some toys so he can keep an eye on her, and she’s playing quietly until she decides that it would be more fun to stand up and start flinging her toys furiously at the ground, then wailing at him.

“No,” Louis mutters. “‘M not pickin’ those up, so you can just deal.”

Mia flops down on her arse, wailing louder. Louis squeezes his eyes shut. His head is pounding.

Like a merciful angel, Zayn walks down the hall and peeks his head into the dark bedroom.

“Hey,” Louis sighs. “Thank God.”

“Hey there,” Zayn says. He peels his leather jacket off, tosses Mia’s toys back into her crib, and claps the lights on.

Louis buries his head in his pillow. “No, please no --”

“Alright, alright.” Zayn claps again and comes over to him, stroking his hair. “Got something for you.”

Louis peeks up at him. Zayn’s extending a handful of pills.

“What's that?” he murmurs.

“Just some molly,” Zayn cracks drily. “What d’you think? It's your prescription, your Phener-thing.”

He sits up, taking them gratefully and washes them down with a glass of stale-tasting water from off the bedside table.

Zayn pushes Louis’ sweaty fringe to the side of his forehead, then drops his hand to the curve of his belly. The baby had started stirring at the sound of his voice, and at his touch, he lets off a few kicks. Louis moves Zayn’s hand so he can feel. Zayn’s gaze goes fuzzy as he concentrates, and then he smiles, his eyes crinkling.

“Hey sonny,” he murmurs.

Mia picks up her toys and starts throwing them again, babbling angrily. Zayn turns and looks at her incredulously.

“Dada!” she screams, red-faced, clearly furious at the lack of attention.

“God,” Louis mutters, “imagine how much worse that'll be when he gets here.”

“She’ll adjust,” Zayn says.

Louis laughs. “Alright, little brother.”

“ _DADA_!”

Zayn sighs and goes to pick her up, settling her on his hip, but she exclaims “Dada!” again, reaching for Louis.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, passing her over. Louis accepts her, and she buries her tearful little face against his neck.

“Oh, lovey,” Louis coos to her, rubbing her back. “I know, life is tough.”

 

BRADFORD, DECEMBER 22, 2016

Louis is lying on his back in Zayn’s parents garden, staring up at the muggy, cloudy sky, when Niall FaceTimes him.

“Hey,” he says warmly, awkwardly maneuvering himself into a sitting position. “What's up?”

“You back on the Isles too?” Niall says. He looks to be lying on a couch. “I got your snap.”

“Yeah, I'm at Zayn’s parent’s.”

“What, no room at the inn, Virgin Tommo?”

“Very funny, Neil.”

“I was thinking,” Niall says, scratching the little beard he's growing, “that maybe, uh. Y’know, everybody's sort of in the area…”

Suspicion creeps up Louis’ neck. “Who's everybody?”

“Y’know. The four of us,” Niall says. “We four.”

Louis says nothing.

“We four, we happy four,” Niall rattles on, clearly anxious at his lack of response. “We band of… band.”

“Dunno how happy a four we are,” Louis says drily.

“Might be good t’ have a band meeting. Just to clear the air.”

“Hey, lad, don’t feel like you've got to…” he trails off. “Don't feel like just ‘cos me and Liam have kind of… dropped off with the spokesman thing, and the bandleader thing, don't feel obligated to jump in. Focus on your own stuff, if that's what you want.”

Niall shakes his head. “I can multitask.”

“I don't want to be in a room with Harry,” Louis says. “That's not gonna be fun for either of us.”

“The longer you put it off, the more the band suffers.”

“What band?” Louis says flatly.

Niall inhales and lets out a sigh.

“I’m not being an arse, I'm sincerely asking. What band?”

“Louis, it’s not your fault,” Niall says. “None o’ this. An’ I'm not gonna let you hide from us forever just ‘cos you're convinced yourself you've ruined everything. Point of fact, you're t’ only one who can fix this.”

“I think that's _you_ , mate.”

“No. I'm just the facilitator. You're the glue.”

Louis sets the phone on the ground and buries his face in his hands. Neither of them talk for a while.

“Just think about it,” Niall says. “Haven't brought it up to the others, wanted t’ go to you first.”

“Yeah,” Louis mutters. “I will. I'll text you. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to the Virgin Tommo.”

“Stop,” Louis says, laughing, and they ring off.

He's only out there a few minutes longer before Yaser comes to find him, extending his hands. Louis shuts Instagram and lets him pull him to his feet.

They walk back to the house in silence. Louis has always found Yaser intimidating; he doesn't seem to be a big fan of bullshit.

He stops Louis right before they get inside, clearing his throat. The baby kicks hard at him as Yaser gathers his thoughts.

“I told Zayn he should marry you,” he says. “When he first told us he'd gotten you in trouble.”

Louis folds his arms over his chest, feeling self-consciously pregnant.

“Obviously, it’s what you do,” he continues, studying Louis. “But both people should want it. It shouldn't be… you know.”

Louis tips his chin up. “I wouldn't’ve married him if I didn't want to.”

Yaser nods. “Okay.”

“I don't need him, financially. Or support-wise. I wouldn't have taken him if I didn't want him.”

“It's just he's very young.”

Louis runs his tongue along his teeth. “And I'm not?”

Yaser’s eyes twinkle a little. “Zayn’s younger, emotionally.”

“Oh, how convenient for him.”

“Hmm.”

“So you're regrettin’ putting the idea in his head?”

“No,” Yaser says. “Do you regret me putting the idea in his head?”

“No.” Louis squints at him. “I don't do sh -- I don't do things I don't want to do.”

He nods again, more slowly this time. “Okay,” he says, and opens the door for Louis.

 

LONDON, DECEMBER 30, 2016

They agree to meet at Niall’s house in the afternoon the day before New Year’s Eve, the only day of the holidays that none of them have plans, and Louis leaves Zayn behind in Doncaster right as the noon sun has reached the top of the sky and started beating down.

Zayn lingers by the car as Louis is getting in, standing in the driveway in his sock feet with his hands in his pockets, looking attractively mussed and floppy.

“I'll be back,” Louis reassures him.

“I know,” Zayn says, laughing. “Just worried about you.”

“Ah, don't be. Gimme a kiss.”

Zayn kisses him on the mouth and then the forehead. “Tell ‘em I said hi,” he says, and then reconsiders this. “Actually, don't.”

“I can if you want.”

“Tell Niall.”

“That's gonna be a bit rude, innit,” Louis says. “‘Hey boys, Zayn says hi to Niall and nobody else.’”

“Then don't.”

Louis strokes Zayn’s face, rubbing his tattooed knuckles against his beard. Zayn pulls his hand to his lips and kisses it.

“Don't be too long,” he murmurs huskily.

Louis goes a bit moony. “I won't.”

 

*

 

When Louis arrives, only Liam and Niall are there; Niall’s security lets him in the house and he lingers at the top of the basement stairs, listening to them laugh together, knowing the mood’s going to change for the worse the second he walks into the room and hating it.

But he goes down the stairs anyway, checking out the new artwork Niall’s got up on his walls since he was last here. They must hear him, because they get quieter.

They're hanging out on a long couch in the den, chips and beers on the table and muted golf on the telly.

“Hey," they both chorus.

Louis tries not to look directly at Liam, like he's an eclipse. “Hey,” he says cheerily, coming over and settling down in the corner of the sofa so he can sit sort of diagonally, which helps his aching back a little.

“Tommo,” Niall says, “you want a b -- sorry, a seltzer?”

“I'm good,” Louis says, because there's no seltzer down here, which means Niall would have to leave to go get it and then he and Liam would be alone. “Where's Harold?”

“He'll be here.”

Louis bounces his leg and nods.

“You're like, all baby, mate,” Niall says, gesturing broadly.

“Oh, cheers!"

“Not in a bad way! You wear it well.”

“How exactly does one wear that well, Neil?” Louis says, and he and Liam share an amused look.

“I mean, you only look so pregnant ‘cos you're so little..."

“Oi, the hits just keep coming, don't they?”

“Help me,” Niall mouths at Liam.

“Tell him he's glowing,” Liam whispers.

“You're glowing,” Niall says to Louis. Louis winks and gives him the finger.

“So how's the missus?” he says to Liam, because he might as well get this out of the way.

Liam clasps his hands and looks delicately down at them. “She's fantastic. Still dancing, actually, which is, like -- wow. But, yeah, doing great.”

“You know what you're having?”

Liam finally looks at him, rubbing his thumb along his palm. “A girl,” he says, with an irrepressible smile.

Louis smiles back. “That's fantastic, mate.”

“Yeah… yeah.” Liam inhales. “What about you?”

Louis finds it difficult to speak, for a moment. “Boy,” he finally says.

Liam and Niall exclaim in delight

“Perfect,” Niall says cheerfully. “One o’ each, right?”

Louis isn't sure if he means him and Liam, or him and Zayn. “Right, right.”

They all hear boots on the stairs. Liam and Niall glance up; Louis sits, frozen.

“Heyy,” Harry drawls.

“Hey,” they all call back.

“Niall, I like that painting on the landing,” Harry says, sounding amused. He comes over and takes a seat on a chaise, apart from the rest of them.

Niall grins. “Outbid him for it,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“Yeah, yeah, I'll get you back one day,” Harry says. “Hey, Louis, it's been a minute.”

He meets Louis’ eyes very crisply and intently, not dipping any lower. He makes him feel like he doesn't even have a body, let alone a wombful of Zayn's baby.

“It has,” Louis says, smiling at him. “I never thanked you for the card, mate, sorry.”

Harry flaps his hand. “‘S’alright, you were busy.”

“Aye, definitely.”

“Your fingers alright, bro?” Liam says.

Harry looks down at his hands, which are calloused and bandaged.

“No big deal,” he says. “Been teaching myself the sitar over the holiday.”

Liam flicks his eyes over to Louis, and they share in a millisecond of fond amusement.

“So,” Niall says. “Just thought we ought to discuss some things.”

“Like what?” Harry says.

Niall tucks his lips into his mouth and squints at the ceiling. “Just, y'know. Band things.”

“Niall’s afraid we're never getting back together,” Louis says, glancing at Harry.

Harry spreads his hands. “All in good time... right?”

“Right,” Niall says. “What I wanted t’ talk about was --”

He trails off awkwardly.

“I just want t’ make sure we don't have any lingerin’ Zayn problems,” he finally says.

Harry snorts. “No,” he says shortly.

“‘Cos you hadn't talked to Louis in an entire year.”

“Yeah? And?” Harry says. “We aren't close. No offense.”

“I mean, it's the truth,” Louis says.

“Yeah, but has that been worse than usual?” Niall says. “In a way that would make it hard for us t’ be a band again?”

Liam jumps to his feet. “Who wants another beer?” he says. “Or seltzer?”

“I'll have a beer,” Harry says evenly.

“Me too,” Louis jokes.

Liam laughs a little too hard and heads upstairs. Niall reaches out for the remote and shuts the TV off.

The baby kicks hard at Louis. He winces and shifts on the couch, pressing his hand to his ribs.

“But,” Niall says. His leg has begun bouncing frantically, and he's staring at his foot. “You’ve never been ‘don't talk for a year’ not close.”

“The band also hasn't been on hiatus at all since we've met,” Harry says. “And, like… Liam and Louis haven't been talking, either.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, that's different,” Niall says. “They, uh. Um. I mean. Liam was in lo --”

“Hey, Niall!” Liam says frantically, peeking his head out from the staircase, and Louis’ heart lurches. “Where's the seltzer?”

“In the crisper, lad.”

“I really don't need a seltzer, Liam, d’you want to sit down?” Louis says, ashamedly refusing to look at him.

“You're pregnant, you should drink something.”

“I'll have a water, then.”

“Water coming!” Liam exclaims, tosses Harry’s beer to him and bolts back upstairs. Harry pops the top off and downs what looks like half of it.

“Maybe,” he says, wiping his lip, “our rule about not shagging each other should've been better followed, but I'm not, like, seeing how that's my fault?”

“Oh,” Louis scoffs, blazing with anger, “alright, here we go already! I should’ve started the fuckin’ clock!”

“It's just the truth,” Harry snaps.

“And like you didn't start the whole thing by fuckin’ Zayn years and years ago?”

“And I ended it while I still could, for the good of my -- for the good of the band!”

“What's ‘while I still could’ mean?”

“Nothing.”

“That a dig at me?”

“Not everything’s a dig at you!”

Liam comes back down, handing Louis his water and pressing another beer firmly into Harry’s hands.

“I haven't even finished this one,” Harry objects.

“Just take it,” Liam says, sitting back next to Niall, who has his legs tucked up on the couch and is peeking through his fingers with his hand over his eyes like he's watching an absolutely brutal tennis match.

“How much did you really end it, in your eyes,” Louis says, his jaw tight, not looking at Harry, “‘cos when you found out I was pregnant --”

“Which time?” Harry says tartly.

Niall physically winces at this.

“You know what,” Louis snarls, trying and failing to get up, “I don't need to sit here and listen to you slag me off --”

“Hey, hey,” Niall says, grabbing him by the bicep. “Don't, please. Lads, come on. This is ridiculous. Harry, knock it off with the comments. We all know you had feelings for Zayn, we all know him leavin’ was difficult for you, and you never got to really talk to us about it ‘cos Louis was pregnant, and then the hiatus started sooner than we wanted, and everything got mixed up, and Liam and Louis had to get over _their_ thing, and, y’know…”

Louis stares at the table, a lump in his throat. In his peripheral vision, he sees Liam running a finger around the rim of his beer, over and over.

“Not sure why everyone thinks I'm so fucking hung up on him,” Harry drawls. “We dated for a bit as teenagers, we weren't engaged or anything.” He pauses, then cracks: “Not that engagements mean much to Zayn.”

“I swear to fuckin’ God,” Louis seethes.

“Tommo --” Niall puts his hand up.

“That's my _husband_!”

“Alright,” Harry says, “sorry, that was unnecessary.” He finishes his beer and cracks open the second one.

“I’m supposed to believe you didn't still have feelings for Zayn? ‘Cos you treated me like _shit_ when you found out about Mia.”

“Oh, my God… the melodrama…”

“Just _say_ it, Harry, fuckin’ say it, I’m the chavvy Yorkshire whore who stole your boyfriend --”

“That's not how I feel about you at all,” Harry  hisses at him. “That's a really asinine way to characterize my feelings. I know you think I'm this uptight cold bitch, but I'm not that bad. It’s not like I was still dating him when you started sleeping together.”

“Aye, I know that,” Louis snaps. “Was never entirely sure if _you_ did.”

“Not like it wasn't hurtful to me anyway, but --”

“You have everything, Harry, can I just fuckin’ have Zayn?”

“Maybe,” Liam says, very gently, “me and Niall should let you two alone for a bit --”

“No,” Harry and Louis both loudly chorus.

They all go quiet, then.

“I'm sorry,” Harry mutters. “I didn't want to… Louis, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be fighting with you in your condition. I'm not even angry with you, I promise. I'm sorry if you feel like I've been punishing you ‘cos you and Zayn are together. I didn't mean -- I’m happy if you two are happy.”

He doesn't sound totally sincere about this, but at least he said it.

“We are,” Louis says, swallowing over a lump in his throat. His eyes are getting hot again, but he refuses to cry.

“Yeah,” Niall says, “no offense, but I'm really glad right about now that I've never slept with any o’ you.”

They all give a very fake laugh at this, and Harry tosses his empty at him. Niall puts his hands up, grinning sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he says. “I forced this conversation. Normally Louis guides us through hard shit like this, and he does a good job of it, and I blindsided him today.”

“It's alright,” Louis mutters.

“No, it's not,” Niall says, “you're about t’ have a baby and I dragged you here t’ get in a screamin’ match. I should've eased us into this, I fucked up, I'm sorry.”

Liam squeezes Niall’s arm reassuringly.

Louis covers his eyes with his hand to hide the tears prickling at the backs of them. “It's fine, Nialler.”

“No, it's clearly not, ‘cos now you're crying.”

“No,” he protests, trying to blink them back. His heart is still hammering away in his chest, making the baby move around in him. “‘M not, I swear, I'm just hormonal.”

“I think,” Liam says, clearly choosing his words carefully, “maybe this was a conversation we needed to get through, and one that got put off? And in that case, it wasn't a totally bad idea to finally have it.”

Harry drags in a rough inhale. “Right. So, same time next week?”

Louis laughs in spite of himself.

Harry gets up, hesitates, then comes over to Louis and wraps his arms around him. Louis sits confused for a moment before he realizes it's a hug, then tries to return it, but he's very pregnant and gets tangled in Harry’s long limbs.

Niall stares at them. “Does doing that feel as awkward as sittin’ here watching it does?”

Liam stifles a snort.

“Stop!” Louis exclaims, laughing.

“We’re trying!” Harry admonishes him.

Finally they sort themselves out and get their arms around each other. Even after all these years, there's still something about Harry that feels comfortably familiar. Louis buries his face in his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” Harry whispers to him.

“I am too,” he whispers back.

Harry's quiet, and then in a hoarse little voice he says, “Take care of him.”

“I am,” Louis says, choking up.

They pat each other roughly on the back and separate, clearing their throats and avoiding meeting each other's eyes.

 

*

 

While Harry and Niall are chatting in the kitchen, Liam finds Louis in the entryway getting his jacket on.

“Hey,” he says. “I've been meaning to text you… I just wasn't sure if you’d want that.”

Louis softens. “Oh, Payno, you always could've texted me. I'm always here if you wanna talk.”

Liam nods. “I reckoned, but.”

“Yeah. I get it.”

They both exhale heavily. Louis feels a particularly strong kick and puts his hand to his middle, shifting his weight.

Liam studies him. “Baby?”

“Yeah. Wanna feel?”

“Yeah…”

Louis guides his hand to where the kick landed, and it's only a moment before they feel another.

Liam's face lights up. “Oh, cool,” he says tenderly.

Louis squeezes his hand, wracked by some powerful sadness. He's missed touching Liam, hearing his voice, seeing his face.

“Hey, when's Cecilia due?” he says, meeting his eyes.

Liam seems surprised by the question. “March tenth,” he says.

Louis chokes on an inhale. “Oh, fuck,” he says, getting a bit lightheaded. The Phenergan keeps doing that to him.

Liam withdraws his hand, looking worried. “You good?”

“Yeah, I'm just --” He laughs breathily. “I'm due March eleven.”

They exchange a look.

“So,” Liam says, and he laughs too, “we must've… ‘round the same time?”

“Uh-huh,” Louis says, biting at his lip. “Yours was, uh, intentional, though --”

Liam does one of those staccato little laughs he keeps doing. “Yeah. Yeah. So you and Zayn didn't --?”

“Oh, fuck, no,” Louis says. “Hadn't even taken the baby weight off from the last one.”

Liam shrugs. “You look good, though.”

Louis’ cheeks warm, and an awkward frisson passes between them.

“Shit,” Liam says, “Keep doing that, don't I?”

Louis laughs. “You're fine, mate.”

“Well,” Liam says, “it’s kind of nice, right? Babies all around…”

Louis smiles at him, trying to stuff down the melancholy that's suddenly risen in his chest. “Definitely.”

 

*

 

Zayn’s sitting out in the front garden with Lottie when he gets back, helping build the twins a dollhouse and smoking a cigarette.

He puts it out when Louis walks up. The smell lingers; Louis finds it comforting.

“Hey,” Zayn says, “how was it?”

Lottie glances up in curiosity, squinting against the sun. Louis shrugs.

“That bad? You tell ‘em I said hi?”

“I didn't,” Louis says. “Wasn't the right mood. Fairly tense.”

“Sorry, mate,” Zayn says.

“Wanna help us?” Lottie offers.

Louis gingerly lowers himself to the frozen ground. “Yeah, alright.”

Zayn hands him a screwdriver, hesitates for a moment, then pulls his jacket off and drapes it over Louis’ shoulders.

“Oh, no, love,” he protests, “I've got one, I'm not cold.”

Zayn flaps his hand at him. “Just take it.”

“But you'll be cold.”

“‘M not.”

“You'll get cold.”

“I won't.”

Zayn then spends the next twenty minutes very stubbornly pretending he’s not cold, which Louis actually finds sort of romantic.

 

DONCASTER, JANUARY 2, 2017

They get married again in a little backyard ceremony. It’s very sweet; all their youngest sisters volunteer to be flower girls (Zayn buys a load of pink roses at the florist’s, and he and Louis spend an hour at the kitchen table ripping the petals off) the whole thing is sort of silly and chaotic, with no real pressure, since they're already married. When the minister tells them to exchange rings, they awkwardly tug them off their fingers, exchange them, and put them back on each other, laughing.

Zayn goes to bed that night to find Louis already there, taking a catnap in the cozily warm attic room. He comes over and kneels on the bed, whispering to him. Louis stirs and sits up, giving him that sweet look that makes Zayn want to hang onto and protect him.

“Hi,” he murmurs, and leans down to kiss him on his crisply round belly.

“Hi,” Louis says, sounding sleepy and a bit cranky. “Someone’s got a foot up in me ribs.”

Zayn lays his hand over his middle. “He doesn't mean it.”

“So,” Louis says, and gives him a wink. “It's our wedding night...”

“Didn't we already have one of those?”

“Nah, ‘cos that was our American wedding, it didn't count.”

“Right, right.” Zayn lies down and starts toying with his hair. He's cut it recently; it's thick and glossy from all the folic acid he's taking. It smells like his lemongrass shampoo.

“Be gentle with me, though,” Louis says with a cheeky, attractive smile, “‘cos it's me first time, obviously, y’know. Sex before marriage is a sin.”

“You look awfully pregnant for a virgin, mate.”

“I'm the Virgin Tommo, God keeps puttin’ babies in me and they just happen to look like that bloke who's in me bed all the time. Pure coincidence.”

Zayn laughs.

They have sex, very quiet and doggy-style, Louis moaning into a pillow and Zayn biting at his lip so he doesn't groan loud enough for the house to hear. After, they collapse sweatily intertwined with each other, Zayn's dog tags resting on Louis’ bicep, Louis’ head resting on Zayn’s shoulder.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, FEBRUARY 2, 2017

Louis watches from the kitchen doorway for as long as he can manage standing up in one spot. Some of Zayn’s crew is over getting him ready for the L.A. _Fifty Shades Darker_ premiere; two stylists, and Syena in the corner on her Blackberry. She's his date for tonight, and it's the first time Louis has seen her dressed up -- she's in a sleek gown, with her hair in an elaborate updo.

Zayn is perched on a barstool at the island, his face lit up by the round light of the makeup mirror in front of him. It casts white rings in the dark of his pupils. One of the stylists is methodically tweezing his left brow.

Louis tires after about a minute, comes over to take a seat on a soft wingback chair in the corner, and pops his feet up on the footstool. The baby’s been a terror all day, kicking him like he's trying to get free, and he's had Braxton-Hicks for the last hour besides. He's spent most of the day miserably moving from one chair to another, chased by an attention-starved Mia, who he just finally got down for a nap.

Everyone greets him warmly, including Zayn, who’s been moping about how doesn't want to go to this premiere alone.

“How’re you feeling?” he says.

Louis shrugs and smiles. “Could be worse,” he says, smoothing his hands over the baby. A little muscle cramp zings through him, and he winces.

“Maybe I ought to stay home,” Zayn says.

“No,” Syena says immediately, without looking up from her phone. “Zayn, you don't want to do that.”

“Yeah, listen to her. I’m fine,” Louis says, shifting in his seat.

“What if you're in labor?”

“‘M’not in labor, trust me.”

“You sure?”

“I've been in labor before.”

“Right, and you had the baby in the car.”

Louis rolls his eyes and laughs. “Yeah, so I learned me lesson.”

“Chin up,” his stylist Rachel says to Zayn, and he closes his eyes and tips his chin up.

Syena comes over to Louis with two garment bags, her heels clicking on the marble floor. “Which suit do you like for Zayn?” she says, unzipping one and then the other.

Louis does his best to sit up, and squints at them. “Black one,” he says.

“Yeah, I do too.”

Rachel finishes up Zayn’s makeup and starts rinsing brushes in the kitchen sink. Olympia comes over to fuss at his hair, but he waves her away.

“I think I'm good,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “Thanks, loves.”

“No problem!” they chorus.

He comes over to Syena, who holds the black suit out to him; Zayn nods, and she hangs it up on the rack behind her, then sits back down at the island. “I'm going to tweet for you for a bit.”

“Go ahead…” Zayn makes his way to Louis and perches on the footstool. Louis moves his sock feet over to give him more room. He reaches a hand up and rests it on the swell of Louis’ belly. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” Louis says, laying his hand over Zayn’s.

“How's our boy?”

Zayn’s expression is boyish and sweet. Louis softens, looking at him.

“Energetic,” he says.

Zayn rubs his hand back and forth over his middle, then strokes him with a thumb. “I could stay home.”

“No, love, you've got to work.”

“‘S’dumb, though,” he mutters. “Taylor’s not even going.”

“It's only a few minutes of red carpet, then you watch the dumb movie,” Louis says, smiling. “Get  a peek at some titties… then come on home.”

Zayn laughs. “I just wish you could come, so we could take the piss together.”

“I wish I could, too.”

He winces in pain again, and Zayn eyes him.

“I'm not in labor!” he exclaims. “And if I am, I’ll ring you, alright? Don't worry.”

Zayn laughs. “Alright.” He pauses and looks down at his hand, smiling faintly. “I feel him…”

“Here,” Louis says, and moves their hands up and to the right, pressing Zayn’s palm flat against the movement inside him. “There's a foot for you.”

His smile widens. “There he is.”

They sit there in a nice moment of quiet, interrupted only by the clicking of Syena’s iPhone keyboard.

“I just wanna stay home an’ do boring stuff with you,” he murmurs.

Louis finds this really, really hard to understand -- he'd love to be at a point in his career where he's soundtracking a major movie, and he'd love to do a red carpet again. But he's here, very pregnant, with a toddler upstairs who’ll be awake and cranky in a few hours.

“Plenty of boring stuff to do when the baby comes,” he says, and nudges him. “Go to work, yeah? I'll be here when you get back.”

Zayn leans in and gives him a brief kiss on the cheek. “Alright, alright, I'm goin’.”

 

*

 

Zayn gets home later than he said he would; Mia refuses to go to bed, probably because she never does so without a goodnight kiss from him. She eventually falls asleep on the couch next to Louis. He tucks a pillow under her head and throws a blanket over her, then starts flicking around to see what's on TV. He ends up watching _Rudy_ , which is a bad idea -- when Zayn walks through the door at eleven thirty and comes to find him in the sitting room, he’s sitting there openly crying at the ending.

“Hey,” Zayn says, looking tired and a bit amused. He’s taken his tuxedo tie off; his collar is loose and rumpled, and so is his hair. He’s unfairly gorgeous in spite of this. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Louis sniffles, muting the television.

Zayn comes over and bends over the couch, slipping his arms around Louis. “We feeling a bit hormonal?”

“No!” Louis wipes his eyes. “I can cry at a sad movie!”

“Babe, the other day you cried over a bottle of salad dressing.”

“Well, ‘cos Paul Newman’s dead, and his poor wife’s all alone now, and he loved her to bits…”

Zayn laughs and kisses him on the cheek, their stubble rubbing together. “What happened to our daughter?” he whispers, peering over at her.

“She tried to stay up for you. Wanna put her to bed?”

Zayn climbs down into the conversation pit and kneels, gathering Mia in his arms. She stirs awake, blinking at him. “Daddy,” she says, in a tiny, sweet voice, and Louis feels another swell of emotion.

Zayn smiles at her, slow and lazy like syrup. “Hi lovebug. Wanna go sleep in your bed?”

“Yeah.”

He carries her off down the hall.

“Brush her teeth!” Louis calls after them.

“Alright!”

He sits there in the quiet dark, waiting for Zayn to return. The baby is asleep, but there's a thrumming energy from him that never ceases -- the specific sensation of another soul alive in him, his oxygen running through its veins, his bones building its bones. He drops his hands to his middle, smoothing them over the firm curve there.

He hears Zayn before he sees him. His footsteps are as light as pindrops, but Louis can always hear him coming, anyway.

“Hey,” he says, as he makes his way over to the couch and drops back down onto it. “So no labor, then?”

“You see a baby here, mate?”

Zayn starts picking up pillows and peeking underneath them. Louis laughs.

“C’mere,” Zayn says, and settles next to him on the couch, patting his thigh.

Louis snuggles up against him, his cheek pressed to Zayn’s chest. “I'm not getting in your lap.”

“Aw, c’mon.”

“No, ‘m gonna crush you.”

“I’m not made of _china_.”

“I mean, you're not the sturdiest person in the world,” Louis says, laughing.

“Hey-y...” Zayn flexes his bicep. “I’m tough.”

“You're like a swan, y'know? Tough but elegant.”

“I'm not a _swan_... Hey, if that's me, then what’re you, a fuckin’ Precious Moments figurine?”

Louis laughs harder. “Alright, fair.”

Zayn kisses him on the head. “You're still little, anyway. Sit on my lap anytime you like.”

“Don't call me little.” Louis tips his head up, and they kiss, sloppy and open-mouthed. Steadily it grows to full-on snogging; Louis snakes an arm around Zayn’s neck.

“You wanna have sex?” Zayn murmurs.

Louis draws back from him and studies his face, his lips buzzing. He's a bit of a sucker for the half-lidded look Zayn’s giving him. “Hmm,” he says.

Zayn slides his hand over Louis’ thigh and starts rubbing at his half-hard cock. “Hmm?”

“You know what we could do,” Louis purrs, kissing at his neck, “is we could go upstairs, and you could blow me, and then I roll over and go to sleep. Doesn't that sound nice?”

“But what about little Zayn?”

“Please don't call it that.”

“But what about my penis?”

Louis laughs. “I'm tired, though! And I always have to be on top, now, and I _hate_ being on top…”

“You are so bloody lazy, you know that?”

“ _Pleease_ , you're lazy too. You know if we could both lie on our backs for sex, we'd do it.”

“We can lie on our sides,” Zayn says. “Does that work?”

“Mmm,” Louis murmurs, “but the longer we sit here the tireder I get, so…”

Zayn clambers nimbly up out of the pit and drops to a squat, extending his hands to Louis, who awkwardly leverages himself up and out. Zayn slings an arm around him and guides him to the staircase.

“How was the movie?”

Zayn laughs. “Shit. Like, really bad. But the song sounded great, so…”

“That's good, love.”

“Yeah, I’m happy about it.”

 

*

 

They wake up early the next morning and cuddle sleepily in the pale golden light. Louis has to pee, but he's too lazy to get out of their little nest.

“What d’you want to do today?” he murmurs to Zayn, who has a tattooed arm wrapped around him and his face buried in Louis’ neck.

“Nothing,” he says hoarsely. “Sleep.”

“We should do something, take Mims apple picking or something.”

“Apple picking?” Zayn sits up and starts kissing Louis all over his face; Louis giggles. “ _Apple_ _picking_? Are you trying t’ kill me? There ain't even apples this time of year!”

“Okay, okay okay, no apple picking.”

Zayn, smiling, leans into him. Louis smiles back and tips his chin up; they start snogging messily, despite their gross morning breath.

Just as it's getting good, their door creaks open and Mia toddles into the room, climbing up onto the bed and peeping, “Hi.”

“How’d you get out of your crib?” Zayn says, and pulls her into his arms, blowing a raspberry on the top of her head. She lets out a piercing giggle and wriggles in his arms, beaming. “Huh? Little jailbird? Are you my jailbird?”

“Brrt!”

“Jailbird.”

“Brrt,” she says. “Pirp. Pirp pirp pirp. Prrrrrp.”

Louis smiles at them. Mia escapes from Zayn and comes over to him, and with the confidence of a child young enough to still believe her parents’ bodies are merely extensions of her own, blithely pokes him in the cheek and then in the tummy. She's been fascinated by the baby bump ever since she realized something is moving around in there.

“You ready to meet your brother?” he says.

She squints at him. “No.”

“Yeah, love. Little baby brother.”

Mia considers this, then shakes her head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No no no,” she says cheerfully, and slips back off the bed, heading for their bedroom door. “Prrrrp prrp.”

Louis laughs.

“I'll get her breakfast,” Zayn says, yawning and getting up to follow her.

“Thanks, babe.”

 

HUNTINGTON BEACH, FEBRUARY 14, 2017

“And see,” Marco says, giving a sweeping gesture across the Bay over the railing of his yacht, “we've got primo viewing of the regatta once it starts. Every boat that's racing will pass through here twice.”

Everyone thinks this is cool, except Louis, who's lying miserably on a leather couch in the cabin with a pillow under his lower back and a wet flannel over his forehead.

He and Zayn had yesterday talked about not doing anything on Valentine’s Day, just staying in and watching a movie, but Marco (who wrote on Four with them and who they hadn't seen since he decided to spend two years sailing around the world) had called and said, “Boys, my boys! If you’re in town, I've just docked in sunny California, would you like to spend an afternoon on my yacht?”

Louis was feeling chipper and springy yesterday, so he said sure. Now he's completely regretting it, especially since Marco’s traveling companion is his gorgeous cousin, Luca, who Zayn has been sneaking glances at more and more with every drink he has.

He hears footsteps coming back into the cabin, and then Oli peels a corner of the wet flannel up. Louis blinks hard at the harsh light.

“Hey,” he says. “You good?”

“Been better,” Louis says, tucking his legs up so Oli can sit on the end of the couch, which he does.

Louis rests his head against the couch cushion. Outside on the deck, he can hear Zayn and Marco laughing.

“I wish you could smoke,” Oli says. “This shit Marco has… I feel like my head’s gonna float off.”

Louis smiles at him. “Oh, y'know, don't want the baby to pop out and float away.”

Oli chuckles.

“Hey,” Louis says, picking at the strings on his hoodie. “I've got something I wanted to ask you.”

Oli nods somberly. “Yeah, I'll be the goddad to your son, too.”

Louis laughs. “Not that. I was wondering if you think, like… Does Zayn drink too much?”

Oli’s eyes widen, and he blinks. “Huh,” he says. “I dunno. You're the one who's married to him.”

“Yeah, but you go out with him more than I do, these days,” Louis murmurs, sitting up a bit and shifting the pillow under him, one hand on the obstreperous curve of his belly. He heaves an annoyed sigh. “I don't know why I'm even trying to get comfortable.”

“What’s got you bringing this up?”

“When he busted his wrist,” Louis says, “the doctor was like, I think he's an alcoholic.”

Oli lets out a surprised laugh. “What? An _alcoholic_? Just ‘cos of one accident?”

“It was stuff she saw on his X-rays… little fractures over the last year and a half.”

“Wouldn't you all have those?” Oli says. “Jumping around on stage?”

“Last year and a half, lad.”

“Oh, right. Right.”

They fall quiet for a second.

“Maybe he’s been partying a bit much for somebody with, like, a kid and one on the way, but…” Oli shrugs helplessly.

“I worry he's, like.” Louis stops himself, then forges nervously forward: “I just worry about him."

“You shouldn't,” Oli says. “He's not, like, an alcoholic.”

“I didn't say alcoholic,” he says immediately. “Wassername did.”

“Well, either way. Look, he's fine, mate. You don't need to worry about him so much, in general."

"What d'you mean?"

He hesitates. "Just, you don't see how he looks at you. That's all."

Someone shouts from the deck. Louis glances out a window; the sailboats are going by.

Oli extends a hand to him. “C’mon. I'll roll you out there.”

Louis gapes at him and gives him the finger. “Don't touch me, you're fired.”

“You can't fire me, I don't work for you anymore.”

“You’re fired from bein’ godfather, then.”

“You come to me,” Oli says, “on the day of my daughter’s wedding, and you fire me…” He tugs on Louis’ arm.

Louis suddenly misses Niall, who would have quoted that entire scene word for word. He lets Oli pull him to his feet, and they go out on the deck.

 

*

 

When they get back to the house, Zayn covers Louis’ eyes from behind as they're walking up the drive.

“What?” Louis says, wriggling.

“Got a surprise for you.”

“Does it involve lying down? ‘Cos I'm beat.”

“We can do some lying down later, if you like,” Zayn murmurs in his ear, moving his hips flush against Louis’ arse, and Louis laughs. “Ingrid took Yas to Gymboree, so we could ‘ave some alone time...”

“For what?”

Zayn kisses him on the back of the neck and doesn't say anything. He drops his hands, instructing Louis to keep his eyes closed as he disarms the security system and unlocks the front door. Louis peeks, but he doesn't see anything in the foyer. Zayn puts his hands over his eyes again, his wedding band clinking against the bridge of Louis’ nose. He leads him through the house. Louis can hear someone in the kitchen, clanking pots and pans around, and he can smell food cooking, too.

Finally, they come to a stop, and Zayn drops his hands. Louis blinks and finds himself in the dining room, which is full of roses and candles, with a gorgeous tablecloth draped over the table and the good china they got for their wedding laid out.

“Aww, babe,” Louis says, smiling. “This is lovely... Now I feel like a prick, all I got you was a bracelet.”

Zayn kisses him on the cheek. “Don't worry about it. Happy Valentine’s Day. I know you didn’t want to go out, so it's the next best thing.”

“What’re we having?”

“Not sure, honestly. I let Mo do the whole menu. I just told him no shellfish, no soft cheese, all that, and think Sunday roast.”

“Brilliant.”

Zayn guides him to one of the chairs, which he’s thankfully lined with pillows. Louis settles into it, and Zayn sits at his left, absent-mindedly pouring himself some wine from a bottle on the table.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, and Zayn glances up at him. “I'm, um… I’m glad we got married."

Zayn’s face breaks into a smile. “Me too,” he says.

Out of the blue, Louis' stomach lurches. He staggers to his feet and realizes he's not going to have time to get to the toilet; he grabs the champagne bucket off the table, dumps the champagne bottle and ice out onto the floor, then drops to his knees and is violently sick into it.

Zayn comes over and kneels next to him, stroking his back. "I'll try not to take that personally..."

Louis laughs weakly.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," he mutters, wiping his mouth with his arm. "Don't think this baby agrees with me."

"I know... when you threw up in the car the other day, Jesus. I've never seen somebody throw up like that. It hit the fuckin' windshield."

Louis laughs. "Least me head didn't spin around."

"You alright to have dinner?"

"Um... yeah. Maybe let's take it in the sitting room, though? I wanna be comfy."

"'Course, babe." Zayn squeezes his shoulder. "I'll let him know."

 

*

 

Before they put Mia to bed that night, she insists on cuddling, so they put on a movie they've been trying to finish ( _7 Days in Hell_ ) and Zayn keeps her on his lap, pointing out things on the screen to her. She watches raptly, the screen flickering on her little face. Louis wonders how much she understands.

Bo lies next to Louis, who he's grown protective of the more pregnant he gets. Louis dozes, drifting in between the sleeping world and the waking one, having funny little dreams. He feels content in their little familial bubble, warm and weighted down, his husband and his baby only inches away.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, MARCH 18, 2017

Their son is a week late, to the day. A miserable Louis is confined to bed rest for most of March because of some reason he can't quite remember -- Evelin thinks he's too dainty and his pelvis is going to buckle, or his heart’s going to explode, or something offensive like that.

“I'm tough!” he told her. “I'm Northern!”

She smiled indulgently at him. “Just stay in bed, please, Louis.”

Cecilia has Liam’s baby ages before, like March 7 or something. Louis sees he Instagrammed and calls him from bed to say congrats. Liam thanks him and tells him, like he's passing a secret in class, that the baby’s name is Sunday.

“Oh,” Louis says, smiling. “I like that.”

“Thanks… she was born on Sunday, and it’s a Sondheim thing, Ceci loves Sondheim -- but, um…” He sighs happily. “Yeah.”

“Congrats, lad. I'm really happy for you.”

On the morning of the 18th, Zayn wakes him very unceremoniously by nudging him in the ribs with an elbow and grunting, "You havin' that baby yet?"

Louis squints blearily at him in the gray morning light. "Maybe today," he murmurs, wetting his lips. "I'm a bit crampy."

"Yeah?" Zayn presses a kiss to his cheek. "You want anything?"

"Water."

"Food or anythin'?"

Louis thinks about it and grimaces with displeasure, shifting in his nest of pillows. "Nah."

"You should eat."

"Maybe later."

Zayn lays his hand over his belly, leans down and says, "Oi! Get outta there!"

"Trust me, I've been tellin' him."

Zayn chuckles and slips off the bed to go fetch Mia, who's sat up in her crib at the sound of their voices.

Around noon, Louis gets out of bed and comes into the kitchen to let Zayn know that the contractions he's been having are only worsening, so they should probably call the hospital, and then his water breaks in the doorway. Zayn looks up, and Louis gives a kind of comical shrug.

“Hey,” Zayn says. "You know you've got two different socks on?" He pauses for a moment, then blinks. “Wait… your just water break?”

“Yeah, reckon I'm in labor,” Louis says matter-of-factly. “Just a heads-up, though. Feel free to finish your cereal.”

“Fuck,” Zayn says, swallowing and jumping to his feet. “Fuck, shit.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, wincing in discomfort.

Mia babbles from her high chair, reaching out for him. Louis shuffles over and kisses her on the head. “Time to get dethroned, lovey.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Zayn says, tossing his bowl in the sink.

 

*

 

“Fuck, fuck fuck…”

Zayn glances up from his phone and smoothes his dark hair back out of his eyes. “Shouldn't the epidural be working?”

“She said in thirty minutes,” Louis says through clenched teeth. “It's been five.”

Zayn flops his left hand onto the bed. “Squeeze that.”

“Cheers.”

The contraction deepens from a steady throbbing into a more insistent hot stabbing ripple through his middle and up his back, and he lets out a sharp, pitiful cry of pain.

Zayn’s phone rings, and he picks up, touching his fingertips to his left palm a few times in front of Louis’ face as if to say _squeeze it_. “Yo... No, not really. Just at the hospital, Louis’ havin’ the baby. Right. No, just me and my sister-in-law. Yeah, thanks mate. Nah, nah, I can talk.” Pause. “Oh, shit, that'd be sick. How much are they offering?”

In a haze of blinding pain, Louis snatches his phone out of his hand, hangs it up and tosses it across the floor.

“ _Hey_! That was my agent!”

“I DON’T CARE!”

Evelin peeks into their posh, well-lit birthing suite. (There's soft jazz playing, and plants in the corners, apparently to stimulate peaceful thoughts. It all makes Louis sort of wish it was the 1800s and he could just go bite on a wooden spoon in a garden shed in peace, maybe snort some laudanum.) “Hi there!” she exclaims. “How's it going?”

“Well, he's started throwin’ shit,” Zayn mutters.

“How fuckin’ ‘ard is it to let your fuckin’ phone go to fuckin’ voicemail when I'm in here havin’ your fuckin’ baby?”

Without dropping her smile, Evelin firmly shuts the door behind her so their voices don't carry. “I hear we're getting close?”

Louis nods, taking in a deep breath.

“I just got off the phone with Joan,” she says in that soothing doctorly tone, coming over with a chart in her hand. “Louis, you didn't tell me you delivered your first baby in a car! What a story!”

He shifts on the bed, wincing. “Right, not exactly my finest moment.”

“I thought we did alright,” Zayn says. “Pulled her out in good shape, didn't strangle her or nothin’.”

“That’s top marks for midwifery, yeah,” Louis says, “when you don't strangle the baby.”

Zayn sighs through his nose.

"His epidural should kick in soon,” Evelin whispers to him conspiratorially, stethoscope in her ears as she listens to Louis’ heartbeat.

“Am I being that big a pain in the arse?” Louis says, wincing.

“Threw me phone,” Zayn mutters.

“Oh, go pick it up, bet you ten grand the screen’s not even cracked.”

Zayn gets up and retrieves it. He stands there, examining it and pressing all the buttons.

“I don't owe you ten grand, though,” he shoots back as he settles back into the chair.

“I'll take that hand, now,” Louis says, reaching his out.

Zayn takes it and laces their fingers together, squeezing him.

 

*

 

The epidural and the Demerol kick in together right at three thirty on the dot, and just like that, Louis is on cloud nine.

“I can't feel me legs,” he says dreamily to the ceiling.

“Ain't supposed to,” Zayn says. He’s scooted his chair closer, holding Louis’ hand with one arm, using the other to prop up his chin against the bedspread.

“I know, but it's soo weird,” Louis slurs. “You’ve got to try this sometime. I’ve got no legs!”

“Lieutenant Dan,” Zayn says in a horrendous American accent. “You ain't got no legs.”

“Lieutenant Dan… ice cream…”

Zayn starts laughing. “You are _so_ fucked, mate.”

“That's from the movie!”

“No, it's the way you're sayin’ shit…”

“I can't feel me legs and I can't see me feet.”

Zayn grins at him.

Louis’ head lolls over on his pillow. “Where's our baby,” he sings.

“He's comin’,” Zayn sings back.

“No, our already here baby. Our girl baby. I miss her.”

Mia has a ridiculous cowlick in her hair today. He kept spitting on his hand and trying to smooth it down in the car, in between contractions, because he knows they're going to want to take a picture of her meeting her brother and he doesn't want her to look stupid in it. But when he tried a third time, she asserted her personal space by screaming, “DADDY! STOP!” which made him very proud and burst his eardrums a bit.

“She's in the waiting room with Lottie, you know that. Doing coloring books.” Zayn smiles crookedly. “Not big on accuracy, that one. Red trees, green monkeys...”

“She's just an innovator,” Louis says, smiling back at him. The smile comes easily; his jaw feels light and loose. His whole body feels light and loose. “She's an _artiste_. I love her. I love you.”

Zayn looks a little emotional at this. He cocks his head, his eyes half-lidded and warm. “Love you too, Louis.”

“Hey, I zapped us some babies, didn't I,” he murmurs. “Zap zap.”

Zayn brings his hand to his mouth and kisses it. “Zap zap.”

 

*

 

Labor goes without a lot of fuss or drama; the total opposite of Mia.

Zayn keeps his face pressed to the crook of Louis’ neck the whole time, listening to his soft cries of effort, smelling his sweat. He doesn't want to look. He saw too much the first time. It wasn't like it turned him off -- if anything it made him feel even closer to Louis, more deeply responsible to him and the little creature they'd made, but it made him anxious, seeing Louis that human and vulnerable, in horrible pain and bleeding like mad.

But Louis is in a numb, drugged-out haze this time. Zayn holds his hand the whole time. Louis doesn't claw at him like he did with Mia, just squeezes gently with the rhythm, like a heartbeat. Zayn feels like they're two halves of a whole, like when they're having sex, or lying intertwined in bed on those early mornings, Mia lying between them and the dog snoozing at their feet.

“Okay,” Evelin says softly after a while, “almost done…”

“Really?” Louis says, tipping his head back, his fringe soaked with sweat and high color pooling at his cheekbones. “‘Cos you keep saying that.”

She chuckles. “I mean it this time.”

Zayn kisses him on the neck. Louis squeezes his hand, and he drops his forehead to Louis’ chest, gripping his hand back tightly, and then Evelin says, “Oh, there he is, there he is…”

He looks up and sees a bloody, squirming baby. His heart leaps.

Louis exhales heavily, then: “He's not crying?”

“They don't all cry right away,” Evelin assures him, but the nurse next to her looks a bit concerned, and he mouths something in her ear. “One sec…”

They cut the cord without asking Zayn if he wants to, then rush him off in the corner to clean him up.

“Eight pounds, two ounces,” someone says.

Louis struggles to sit up; Zayn helps him, kisses him on the temple and murmurs, “Good job, babe, you were brilliant…”

But Louis is distracted. “I don't like him not crying,” he says, with that knife-sharp insistence of his that cuts through a room.

Zayn finds he doesn't like it either. The delivery room is eerily silent, besides the soft jazz. The baby makes a few feeble squeaks, but no cries. Evelin and the nurses fuss over him on that little warming table, their backs turned, their voices inaudible.

The nurse, Robert, comes over to them and lays a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “We're going to take him,” he says gently.

“I wanna see him,” Louis barks at him.

“We need to suction his lungs, that’s all. He's fine, he just has a buildup of fluid. It happens.”

Zayn is dizzy with fear and dread.

“I wanna see him first,” Louis says, very loudly, wincing as he pushes his back up against the headboard.

Evelin herself brings the baby over. He's pink and perfect, and clearly breathing, just not doing a great job of it. Zayn feels sick with a turgid mix of anxiety and throbbing, painful parental love.

Louis is wonderful, though -- he coos to him and kisses him on his wee head, tells him they love him, holds him to his chest, and then they're yanking him out of Louis’ arms and whisking him out of the room.

Louis sits there. He still looks sort of numb, and he's teary-eyed, but they don't fall.

“Zayn,” he says in a small voice.

“They'll bring him back,” Zayn murmurs, and climbs into bed next to him, pulling him to his chest. He hopes Louis can't hear his heart thumping. “‘E’s fine. ‘E was breathing. You saw.”

 

*

 

They wait for an awful, interminable hour, just lying there holding each other. Lottie comes back, wanting to know what's happened.

“It's all a goof,” Louis says in a raspy voice, his head lolling on the pillow. “The magical vanishing baby. I've just had a pillow under me shirt the last few months.”

But at five, when Zayn has begun to pace the room and Louis is getting the feeling back in his legs and is talking crazy talk about getting up and walking the halls until he finds where they took him (“Please lie down, Tommo, you just had a baby --” “I’ll lie down when they give him back!”), there comes Robert back into the room with their swaddled second-born, who’s crying his lungs out.

Louis starts to cry, himself, and then Zayn does, and they sit there like idiots laughing weepily with relief.

“Oh, sonny,” Louis says as he's lowered into his arms, tears shining on his cheeks. “Just had to give us a scare, didn't you? Can't any of my kids be born normal?”

The baby’s wails peter out into little whimpers, and Zayn climbs back into bed next to Louis, gazing at him. He reaches down to stroke his little pink face.

“He's so beautiful, Louis, he's perfect,” he murmurs, and kisses him on the cheek again. “You did such a good job...”

Louis is beaming, his eyes bright with tears, his face soft with tender love. He leans over and kisses Zayn back. “Got that name list on your phone?” he says.

Zayn reaches in his pocket. “Me smashed-up, broken phone? Yeah, maybe…”

“Ha-ha, don't take calls when I’m in labor, smart-arse.”

“Next time I won't.”

“ _Next time_?” Louis murmurs, looking amused. “You smoke too much weed.”

“There could be a next time…”

“No. You got one of each, an’ I’m getting an IUD.”

“Anyway,” Zayn says, clearing his throat. “Boy names we liked.”

“Right.” Louis runs his finger down the baby’s cheek.

“Nick.”

“Can't.”

“‘Cos of Grimshaw?”

“Aye. He'd never shut up about it. Which is a shame, ‘cos I do like the name.”

“Oliver,” Zayn says. “That one was all you.”

“Aw, I do like Oliver,” Louis says with a faint smile.

“Peter.”

He makes a face. “Dunno what we were thinking with that one.”

“George?”

“Not a George, is he?" Louis smiles. "Can we name him Louis?"

"You really want to name him after you?"

"Why not? I made him."

"I'll consider it."

He laughs. "I don't really want to. Don't think it'd fit, anyway. He's not a Louis."

“I liked Omar, or Amir,” Zayn says.

He remembers Louis wasn't much into either. But Louis goes quiet, studying the baby, his expression soft.

“Maybe Amir would suit him,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I just…”

“What?”

“I dunno, I worry.”

“About?”

“About them,” Louis mutters.

He doesn't seem able to say whatever it is he's trying to say.

Zayn inhales, then kisses tenderly him on the side of the head. “Louis…”

“Just, y’know.”

“You can't protect him with a whiter name, trust me.”

Louis laughs. “I wasn't gonna -- Christ, yeah, please let’s name him Tyler, so he'll never get pulled aside by TSA.”

“‘Tyler Tomlinson’s, like…”

“A porn star?”

“‘Sactly.”

The baby coos.

“Are you Amir?” Louis murmurs to him, and runs a finger along his cheek. “Is that who you are?”

They both gaze at him, in a sort of holy quiet -- the moment of becoming for this brand-new person.

“Amir William,” he adds.

“I'm alright with that,” Zayn says.

“I think he's got your mouth,” Louis murmurs. “And my eyebrows.”

“I think he's got _your_ mouth,” Zayn says. “Actually, I've got no idea, I'm shit at this. He looks like a baby.”

“Mia looks more like you, and everyone said that when she was a baby, too.”

“I think the older she gets, the more she looks like you,” Zayn counters. “Your nose, your cheeks, your eyes.”

“Your mouth and chin and coloring,” Louis says.

“It's the coloring, that’s why people think she looks like me, ‘cos she's dark. I swear she looks more like you.”

“I hope both of ‘em look like you,” Louis says softly.

Zayn kisses him on the temple. “I love that she's got your eyes,” he murmurs. “I love your eyes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, always have…”

 

*

 

Lottie agrees that he looks like an Amir, or at least probably tells them he does because she feels bad about the scare they had. She lets Mia crawl onto the bed with them after they feed him, and Louis tries to get her to be interested in the baby, but she's more interested in trying to tug off his blood pressure cuff and showing him a picture she drew of a face floating in a giant green blob, resting atop a smaller blue blob.

“That's beautiful, darling,” he tells her.

She babbles at him, then tries to insert her fingers into Amir’s ear.

“No, no no --”

Amir starts wailing. Mia seems deeply affronted by this and starts to cry, too.

“Ah, they're off to a great start,” Zayn says, and he scoops Mia up like she's a wayward sack of potatoes.

“Shh, shh,” Louis coos to the baby.

“Can I take him?” Lottie says, and he hands him over. “Hi-i, little angel…”

Amir soothes himself quickly, hiccuping, and goes quiet in her arms.

“Oh,” she says, in a hushed voice. “He's so good!”

“Don't jinx it,” Louis exclaims.

“That's your brother,” Zayn murmurs to Mia, pointing at Amir.

“Bubber,” she says.

“Brother. Brooo-ther.”

She pouts. Louis smiles at her.

“Louis, do you want us to take the kids and let you sleep?” Lottie says, glancing up from the baby.

“I'm actually feeling fairly good for the moment,” he says with a wink, tapping the IV in his arm. “I'm sure it'll catch up with me, but…”

“Bubber,” Mia says, more insistently.

“Close enough,” Zayn says, giving her a kiss on the head. “Louis…”

Louis looks up at him. Zayn pulls a slim case from his hip pocket and hands it over; Louis opens it to reveal a lovely, very expensive-looking watch.

It's slim and silver; the one he'd given Louis a few days after Mia was born was chunkier and gold.

“Ohh,” he says. “Thanks, love, that's brilliant... You like your push presents, don't you?"

"Nahh, God, I hate that phrase," Zayn scoffs. "'S'like, cutesy and gross at the same time."

"But it's accurate as to what you're giving me," Louis says, smiling.

"Yeah, but let's not call it that."

"Alright, alright."

“And I'm gonna tattoo Amir on the inside of me lip,” Zayn says.

Lottie and Louis glance at each other.

He squints at them, offended. “I'm obviously joking!”

“We know,” Lottie assures him, and squeezes his shoulder.

“Oh,” he says, snapping his fingers. “I just remembered, I had Jav bring cigars back from Havana. They're at the house.”

“I want one,” Louis announces.

Now it's Lottie and Zayn’s turn to look at him funny.

“What?” he says, offended. “Baby’s out, isn't he? I can have a cigar.”

 

*

 

Louis passes out on the the couch in a nest of pillows, snoring lightly. Zayn gazes blearily over at him as he sits close by, feeding the baby, who's nestled in the crook of his arm. It's that time of night right after most people have gone to bed and before it starts really feeling like early morning; that liminal time around midnight when one day bleeds into another. 

He had fallen asleep a few hours ago, not too long after they got home. He's on even more painkillers than they expected him to be; after the baby, when he stood up to take a leak, he had such shattering pain in his hips that he almost fell over. Zayn helped him back into bed and hit the call button, and a doctor came in to examine him, then very briskly informed them that after back-to-back pregnancies, Louis' pelvis literally popped apart in protest. Separated pubic symphysis, was what she said. Zayn knows because he looked it up on his phone, after.

Louis was a good sport about it, but his eyes shuttered slightly when she told him he'd likely have pain and discomfort for at least a few months. He started popping Demerol like candy, after. Zayn couldn't really blame him.

As he cradles the baby, Zayn tries valiantly to focus his eyes on the TV, but they're hot, itchy and tired, and his vision is swimming. 

Amir finishes the bottle and stares up at him with his dark newborn eyes, formula dribbling from the corners of his lips.

"Hey," Zayn whispers hoarsely. "You done?"

He's quiet for a moment, then starts squirming and fussing.

"Shh, no no no. Just go to sleep, love..."

Amir lets out a sharp wail. Across the couch, Louis stirs.

Zayn gets to his feet with a groan and starts bouncing the baby, inhaling sharply, trying hard to stay awake. "It's oka-ay," he sings, "it's okay, you're fine..."

Amir continues to cry full-throatedly. After a minute or so, Zayn goes over and hovers beside Louis, reaching out and very gently shaking his shoulder.

Louis stirs again, groaning. 

"Babe, I'm sorry," Zayn whispers. "Can you take him for just a sec?"

"No," he says, in a weak little murmur, and without opening his eyes. 

"Please, I think 'e wants you..."

Louis rolls over, burying his face in the couch, making a deeply unhappy noise. Amir writhes.

"Love, please..." Zayn leans down, pressing their tiny baby into his arms.

"God," he moans, but cradles Amir to his chest, and opens his puffy eyes a bit. Amir's cries peter off into wet whimpers.

"Sorry," Zayn repeats.

"I'm so fuckin' tired..." Louis blinks down at the baby, then swallows. "D'you mind bein' the one to get up with him, tonight? Like, just letting me sleep through?"

He hates the idea -- it fills him with anxiety -- but he shrugs. "Alright."

"Yeah?" 

Zayn leans down and kisses him on his forehead. His fringe is all piecey from how much he sweat earlier. "Yeah, Louis, you need some rest. You should've stayed the night in the hospital, honestly. They did offer."

And it would have meant Amir spending an extra night under the watchful eyes of doctors. Zayn is still half-convinced he's just going to stop breathing.

"Didn't want to," Louis says stubbornly, sounding stoned from the painkillers he's on, his syllables easing out of him, slurred and slippery. "Wanna be home with you and Mims. Didn't wanna lie there and let those nurses prod me and him all night."

"I get it."

"But I can get -- get up, if you like... I don't wanna..." His eyes drift closed, for a second, and he shakes his head hard and shifts his arms around Amir. "I don't wanna, um..."

"Hon, really, it's fine --"

Louis blinks hard, and glances up at him. "Don't wanna put you out."

Zayn laughs. "Put me out?"

"I dunno. Whatever the phrase is. I'm so..."

Amir snuffles.

"I know," Zayn murmurs. "Long day."

Louis lets out a hiccupy laugh. "That's for bloody sure."

Zayn finds Louis weirdly attractive, right now. He looks an absolute wreck, he's so tired he can barely sit up, he's got spit-up all over his shirt and he still looks pregnant. But he has the same mystifying appeal as always. Zayn idly wonders how long it's going to be before they have sex again.

"He's quiet," he murmurs.

Louis looks down at the baby, seeming sort of nonplussed. "Aye, look at that..."

"You're always so good with them," he says, jealously. 

"You are, too," Louis says, and Zayn shrugs again.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, MARCH 21, 2017

Louis wakes slowly, blinking, unsure of what stirred him out of sleep. And then he realizes that Zayn isn't in bed next to him. Louis rolls over and squints in the dark to see him leaning over the crib, his arms resting on the side. He's clearly exhausted -- dark circles have pooled under his eyes, his hair's a mess, he's got a few days growth of stubble. But his expression is intently watchful, his eyes are lit up with parental worry. 

“Babe,” he moans, sitting up in bed, his head throbbing from sleep deprivation. “What're you doing?”

Zayn glances up. “Nothing."

"Can you come back to bed?"

Zayn gives Amir one more glance, then sighs and crosses the room back to their bed and crawling into it, kissing Louis on the jaw. “Go back to sleep.”

“Were you checking on him again?” Louis says, his voice raspy. He lies back down and closes his eyes, and Zayn settles over him like a sloth on a tree. “You check on him twice as much as ‘e cries…”

“Go back to sleep, Louis.”

“He's not gonna stop breathing.”

Zayn sighs, his breath hot against Louis’ ear. “I said go back to sleep, Louis.”

“Fine,” Louis mutters, because he's exhausted. “Nutter.”

Zayn manhandles him a little in response, wrapping an arm roughly around his ribs and kissing him hard on the side of his face.


	2. Chapter 2

LOS ANGELES, APRIL 30, 2017

Zayn’s anxiety worsens slowly, so slowly that it takes Louis weeks to put his finger on what's happening.

He’s not working on new music, which is nice, because Louis needs help with the kids. But then he starts sleeping funny. He's up til five and six a.m., tossing and turning and sighing. Louis will get up to have his first slash of the day, then stumble back into the dark bedroom and find Zayn surreptitiously looking at his phone, not even having nodded off yet. So he's not that much help, because he's falling asleep with Mia in arms, falling asleep while feeding Amir, falling asleep in front of Paw Patrol.

Louis does his best for him, but it feels a lot like trying to keep your eyes on the road and text someone back at the same time. Amir is a quiet baby, but he's still a baby, he's still waking up needy every few hours.

Zayn tries, fumblingly, to right himself. He gets a Xanax prescription for his sleep, and he's very careful not to pick fights with Louis. Even when Louis is needling him, if he gets fed up he'll just leave the room. Their arguments peter off; they're both tiptoeing around each other.

Louis gets an IUD put in as soon as he’s cleared for one, which involves Evelin shoving a speculum up the tender canal between his cock and bollocks while he lies there whimpering in pain, then hours of painful cramps and him becoming such a hormonal mess that he has to delete Instagram and Twitter off his phone so he doesn't accidentally blow up at anyone.

Zayn drives him home from the appointment, brings him some of his leftover Demerol and sits with him in bed until he's feeling better, reading to him from an old copy of Rolling Stone. When the pain clears, Louis reaches up and pulls the magazine down so Zayn will look at him.

“Hi,” Zayn says.

“Hi. Wanna have sex?”

“For real?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs.

“What about your thingy?”

“Well, it ain't up me arse, is it?”

“But you're crampy.”

“Actually, that Demerol is doing me a lot of good.”

Zayn tosses the magazine aside and slides down in bed beside him, spooning him, running his fingers along his back and shoulders. “Alright, good to know.”

“Wear a condom, though.”

Zayn sighs.

“If you get me pregnant a third time in two years, I'll cut your willy off with a butter knife.”

“Alright, alright…”

Louis has gone so boneless against the soft bed that Zayn slides into him without much effort at all, slipping his hands under his lower back and tilting his hips up so he can get into him deeper. Louis gazes at him, relieved to see his eyes brighten and unglaze.

“You like that?” Zayn murmurs, kissing under his neck. “Ribbed for your pleasure.”

“Is it?”

“You can't feel?”

“Ha,” Louis says, and moans as they start getting into a rhythm. “I'm doped up enough, you're gonna be lucky if I don't fall asleep in the middle.”

“Oh, that's great for me self-esteem,” Zayn grunts.

He settles down against Louis, who wraps his legs around him, his lovely slender Zayn. Louis watches his back muscles move as he works his hips, ignoring the occasional faint flicker of pain in his abdomen and focusing on the radiating pleasure in his pelvis.

Louis lets out a soft noise when he gets particularly deep. “So you still like me?” he says by accident. His brain’s all muddled with painkillers, and he's more insecure about his body than he's been in years, and it just tumbles out.

Zayn nuzzles at his neck and starts sucking a lovebite under his ear. Louis laughs and shivers.

“Yeah,” he says huskily, when he releases him, and bites his bottom lip. “Still hot for you, can you learn to believe that?”

“Maybe,” Louis murmurs, rolling his hips in time with Zayn’s movements. “Can you learn to believe I love you?”

Zayn doesn’t say anything to this. He goes for a long time, and Louis comes long before he does, clenching around him, his semen stickily gliding the friction between their abdomens.

Finally Zayn goes too, an anticlimactic climax that Louis only realizes happened because he stops moving. He quickly pulls out so he can tie off the condom, which he shows to Louis for inspection.

“Throw that away,” Louis murmurs. “Get it out of here. You've got dangerous sperm.”

“Maybe you got dangerous eggs,” Zayn says, but he sits up and tosses it into the bin, then settles back down over Louis, head resting against his chest.

Louis strokes his hair. “I don't have dangerous sperm, though. Me and Eleanor only had one scare with her in four years.”

“That doesn't mean anythin’.” Zayn’s voice sounds funny and thick, and it takes him a while to answer.

“Means I can't be like, overall some fertile freak.”

“Wot, so I am?”

“I dunno.”

There's something hot dribbling on Louis’ chest. All at once, he realizes Zayn is crying.

“Oh, mate, I didn't really mean you're a freak,” he says apologetically, and Zayn laughs.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I dunno why I'm doing that.”

Louis slides down lower on the bed so they're face to face. He kisses the tears off Zayn’s cheeks. Zayn squeezes his eyes shut, and his long eyelashes glitter.

“It’s okay,” Louis says tenderly.

Zayn nods and kisses him. Louis presses against him in response -- needy, insistent, taking long drags of his lips.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, MAY 10, 2017

After a week of Zayn hanging around the house reading and generally being a recluse, Louis drags him out of the house for a walk, wearing Amir in a sling and pulling a cranky Mia along by the hand.

“Take Bobo here,” Louis says as they head down the drive, tossing Bo’s leash to him.

Zayn pauses, tilting his head to listen to something. “You hear that?”

He's talking about the faint, piercing wail of a civil defense siren.

“It's the Blitz,” Louis jokes. “What, you ain't heard those yet? They're from the Cold War, but they started testin’ ‘em again, been going on all week. Niall was telling me why, but I’ve completely forgot.”

Zayn gives him a little smile. “Mummy brain.”

“Aye, got a bit of mummy brain.” 

“I think I've only been out at night, lately,” Zayn mutters. He's been taking meandering midnight walks, the sort Louis always recognizes as a red flag in himself. He stands there scratching idly at the scabbing _Amir_ tattoo on his bicep.

Bo pulls him along, and Louis follows, reaching up to muss Zayn’s short hair. He's impulsively buzzed it off again.

Zayn pauses and slips an arm around his shoulder. They manage to walk like that for all of three meters before the dog yanks him to the left to pee on an oak next to their front gate, and Mia nearly pulls Louis off his feet bending down to pick up a rock.

 

*

 

That night Louis offers to cook dinner, then burns three things in rapid succession, swears a lot and calls Chef Mo. Zayn watches him with his impassive, dark-eyed gaze, and then grabs him by the waist when he walks by and presses his face into his still-soft stomach, holding onto him tightly.

“Um,” Louis says into the phone, and strokes Zayn’s hair. “Yeah, I think sea bass is fine. Zayn?”

“Fine,” Zayn mumbles into his shirt.

“Alright,” Louis says to Mo, “see you in a bit,” and he hangs up.

“I can't believe you burned the toast,” Zayn mutters.

“‘Scuse me, it was garlic bread, and it said to toast it for ten minutes, so am I at fault or is the fuckin’ recipe?”

“Recipe? Babes, it’s _toast…_ ”

Louis chuckles. They fall silent for a little while, petting each other.

“Hey… are you doing alright?” he murmurs.

Zayn presses a kiss above his bellybutton and looks up at him with a sort of complicated expression.

“Yeah,” he says. “‘M alright.”

Louis waits, because he can tell there's more.

Zayn shrugs. “Just feel sorta… I feel like a zombie. Never feel creative anymore.” His voice trails off, weakening, and then he says with difficulty, “Feel like I've been a lousy dad, lousy husband.”

“No,” Louis says, shaking his head.

“Don't lie to me.”

“But you're not,” he says, firm but gentle. “Love, just calm down, just stop beating yourself up. Take shit one day at a time. It's all okay.”

He hides the rising tide of fear in himself, because Zayn talked like this before he left the band -- like the world was ending, or like he had to end it with his own hands to soothe the terrible panic in him.

“Okay,” Zayn mutters.

Louis kisses him. “Why don't you sleep anymore?”

He's quiet for a while.

“‘Cos I’m afraid I'm gonna wake up and you're all gonna be dead,” he finally says, without looking at Louis, who’s dizzied by the apocalyptic grimness of this.

“We’re _all_ gonna be dead?” he repeats.

“Or one of you. I keep readin’ about SIDS… I keep having dreams we find him dead in his crib… An’ then, I dunno, carbon monoxide...”

Zayn’s voice is growing quieter and quieter, like he's being choked by embarrassment.

Louis pulls him close again, a lump growing in his throat. “Hey,” he says hoarsely. “Next time you start reading about that shit, do me a favor, put your phone down, take a Xan and cuddle up with me, okay? Wake me up if you need to, and I'll tell you you're being silly.”

Zayn lets out a little laugh. “Okay.”

“Take two, even.”

“I'm already taking too much, mate…”

“But it’s just to get you over the hump.”

Zayn's quiet. Louis rubs his back, hard.

“We’re a team,” he says firmly. “You an’ me. We're a team. Alright?”

Zayn nods.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, JUNE 5, 2017

The orthopedist is about to get started on Louis when she’s pulled away by the front desk admin for some reason -- a bone emergency? Do those even exist? So he just lies there on the table looking at his phone, taking selfies and talking to people on Twitter, blinking against the harsh fluorescents overhead.

Finally Stacy comes back, smiling apologetically at him. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, then plops into her rolling chair and rolls over to him, snapping gloves onto her hands.

Louis pulls up the hem of his t-shirt so she can feel his pelvis.

“Can you pull your pants down a little?” Stacy says.

“Usually like dinner first,” he jokes, and she laughs, although he's sure she hears that all the time. He slips his jeans down for her, and she feels at his pelvis with trained fingers, looking into middle distance thoughtfully.

This felt funny to him the last time he saw her, too -- she gets so close to his dick, but never quite reaches it.

“Well, you seem to have mostly healed,” Stacy says, glancing over at him. “Any pain?”

Louis shakes his head. “The pelvis isn't botherin’ me much anymore, it's more me back, lately. It's really bad today, actually.”

“Lower back, or…?”

“Yeah, lower. And sometimes it feels numb, like.”

“Lie on your side and bring your knees to your chest, please. And shirt off.”

He pulls it off over his head, turns away and curls into an S shape like a pillbug. She runs her fingers along his spine, palpating in certain places. He feels strangely more vulnerable this way than with his trousers down.

“Hmm,” she says. “Could be a herniated disk.”

“Oh,” Louis mutters. “Alright. From what?”

“How long have you been feeling the pain?”

“Started ‘round the same time as the pelvis. Maybe after.”

“Okay. So it could be from the baby.”

“Maybe I did it working out,” Louis offers.

“Hmm?”

He sits up and turns to her, shifting on the table’s vinyl cushion. She always has a hard time understanding his accent. “It could've been something else, yeah? Like working out?”

“Oh, sure,” Stacy agrees cheerfully. “I’m just tempted to assume that because of the timeline. And you're a small person, and a man, so the spreading of your hips and general disruption to your back and pelvis is more severe.”

She makes a gesture when she says the last bit, sort of ‘here is the church and here is the steeple’-esque. Louis grimaces. He doesn't like to think about his bones shifting and spreading and buckling, like he's a house undergoing an earthquake.

“Especially with your kids so soon after each other,” she adds. “Your body didn't have any time to rest.”

“Alright,” Louis says defeatedly. “So what do I do?”

“There's some stretches you can do to help your pain,” Stacy says, rolling back in her chair so she can pick up a pamphlet from the group of them on her desk. “You should start taking an NSAID for inflammation. And I can prescribe you some stronger painkillers, as well.”

“Feel like I shouldn't,” he mutters.

“Why, are you nursing?”

“No, no no. Just, like, I dunno. I was taking them for weeks after I had him, ‘cos the pelvis…”

“I’d only prescribe you a few,” she assures him. “For bad pain days, not for daily use.”

He hesitates. “‘S’fine. I'll stick to Tylenol.”

“Okay. Let’s get you some X-rays, then, so we can be sure of what we're dealing with.”

“Sounds good.”

 

*

 

Louis is trying to do some of the stretches on a yoga mat when Bo runs upstairs and lies down next to him, nuzzling him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, dropping his hand from his knee and stroking Bo’s head. “You all back from the park, then?”

“Louis,” Zayn’s voice rings out downstairs. _Lou-eh_.

“Yeah,” Louis shouts back.

“Where you at?”

“Bedroom.”

He hears Mia chirping about something, and then Zayn’s feet on the stairs. He comes into the room, wearing Amir in the baby sling. Amir is peacefully asleep.

“Aww,” Louis says, smiling up at them.

“Why you on the floor?” Zayn says, squinting at him.

“Stretching.”

“Oh, right, you see your bone doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“What's wrong?”

“Pelvis is fine, but I've got a slipped disc, now. It ain't that serious, but I've got to do these exercises and keep heat on it, an’ all that.”

Zayn makes a face. “Slipped disc? From what?”

Louis points at their son.

“Really?”

“Yeah! From carryin’ that one around!”

“ _Ghastly_ ,” Zayn says in a posh accent, and Louis starts giggling. “Well, you want a rubdown?”

“Love one… Where's Mims?”

“Yasmeen,” Zayn yells, and after a moment she comes toddling down the hallway into their room. He picks her up, and she giggles with delight. Louis loves that sound.

Zayn gently tosses her onto the bed and undoes the sling, laying a swaddled, snoozing Amir in a little nest of pillows next to her. “Watch your brother,” he says, then picks up the remote and turns the TV on. “Requests?”

“Not Nat Geo Wild again,” Louis mutters, laying face down on the bed beside Zayn. “It's too violent for her…”

“I agree,” Zayn says, fetching the lotion off the bedside table and smearing it onto his palms. “Don’t we have an Alexa up here?”

“We did. Mia pushed it off the table and broke it.”

Zayn snorts, then helps Louis get his shirt off and starts to rub his shoulders. Louis groans in contentment.

“‘S’my lower back, though,” he mutters after a minute or so.

“I’m getting there,” Zayn says testily.

“Okay, lovey. Thank you.”

He presses a kiss to his back. “You're welcome, babes.”

Louis hears Amir let out a sharp, unhappy wail.

“Yas,” Zayn says sharply. “Don't pull your brother’s ears.”

“Off?” she says.

Louis resists the urge to look up, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to remain relaxed.

“No, they don't come off! Do yours come off?”

“Yeah,” Mia chirps back.

“Your ears come off?” he says drily.

“Yeah.”

“You've got detachable ears?”

“Yeah.”

“Zayn,” Louis murmurs. “You're arguing with a baby.”

He laughs and moves his hands down to the middle of Louis’ back, digging his thumbs into his muscles.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, JULY 29, 2017

Louis climbs down into the conversation pit, accidentally scuffing the couch with a dirty Van, and settles the whiteboard and easel into the middle. Zayn sits on the sofa, elbows on his knees and his ring-laden hands clasped.

He scrawls at the top ZAYN ALBUM 2 BRAINSTORM, then points at Zayn with the dry-erase marker. “Go.”

Zayn glances down, thinking. “Grills,” he says.

Louis, market poised at the board, squints at him. “What, love?”

Zayn bares his teeth and points at them. Louis grins.

“Nah, gonna veto that.”

“Just one, then,” Zayn says. “One diamond tooth.”

“Veto.”

“Just for the album art?”

“Veto.”

“You only get the three!”

“I get as many as I like,” Louis exclaims. “I'm Prince Philip, me, the man behind the throne. You think Lizzy gives Philip three vetoes?”

Zayn grins. His hair’s growing out again, and he looks appealingly boyish. “Can I pierce me nipples?”

“What’re you doin’ to me, lad!”

“Alright, alright, I got another. A song with a feature from Mia. Or Amir, like, makin’… baby noises.”

Louis thinks about this. “You wanna rip off Jay-Z?”

“Beyoncé,” Zayn says. “But that wasn't the first -- Aaliyah had a baby as a hook.”

“Which song was that?”

“Y’know...” Zayn easily raises his voice a few octaves and croons, “Tell me are you that somebody --’ I was just talking to Timbaland about it.”

“Ohh, yeah yeah. But that was just a random baby, right? Not her kid, anyway.”

“Yeah, but who cares, it was genius.”

Louis pauses. “I just realized -- DJ Khaled.”

“Exactly, like that, but not corny.”

“I dunno. They’re so young...”

“Both of ‘em are all over your Insta,” Zayn points out. “Haven't got any say in that, do they?”

“Alright, fair point,” Louis says, and he scrawls down, _FEAT. BABIES?_ “What else?”

Zayn pretends to think about this, then reaches out and grabs Louis around the thigh, pulling him in. Louis giggles, slapping at his arm. “Quit it! We're working…”

Zayn ignores him, yanking Louis onto his lap with a wiry arm, stealing a kiss and seizing a handful of his arse. Louis likes this, he loves when Zayn is urgently physical with him, but he doesn't want to reward distractions, so he bites him on the lip and scampers back to the whiteboard.

“Rapping,” Zayn says.

“You rapping?” Louis says.

“Not me, necessarily. More spoken verses overall, more rappers featured, like.”

Louis pauses with the marker tip a millimeter from the board. “I wonder,” he says, “if you wanna stay more away from what Liam's doing.”

“Oh, _fuck_ that,” Zayn complains. “I did my concept first. Liam's not doing anything but embarrassing himself."

"Hey, hey..."

"You brought him up," he snaps.

Louis puts his hands up. "You're right. I did."

“I'm not worrying about anyone else. I'm Zayn. That's it. That's me.”

“It's just you want to segregate the market.”

“I know, Louis.”

Louis shrugs, then writes down MORE RAP.

“Who d’you wanna do?” Zayn says.

“Huh?”

“Your sound. Your shit. What d’you wanna do?”

“Haven't thought much about it,” Louis mutters.

“Yeah, you have.”

“I feel the same way you do, I just wanna be myself. But I dunno who that is yet.”

They fall quiet. The baby monitor crackles to life with the sound of Amir crying.

Louis picks it up and goes down the hall to the downstairs nursery, where Mia is happily stacking blocks in her playpen and ignoring her brother wail in the crib across from her.

“Zayn,” he yells, “can you heat up a bottle?”

Zayn lets out a grunt that means yes, and Louis meets him in the kitchen. It's a lovely summer day; he goes to open the window, and Oliver coos fussily and grabs at the front of his shirt, hitting him in a sensitive nipple.

Louis winces. “Not gonna get anythin’ out of there, kiddo,” he says, and brings him over to Zayn, who's starting the bottle warmer.

“Don't some blokes breastfeed?” he says, looking up.

Louis shifts Amir to his hip, where he settles happily, cooing and sticking his fingers in his mouth. “Sometimes,” he says. “You've got to, like -- really commit to it, like start soon as they're born, ‘cos the milk doesn't come in by itself, just a bit of colostrum from the hormones. You've got to like, let them nurse you ‘til you're bleeding before your body realizes what's up. So you're usin’ formula to supplement anyway, and it’s painful as shit ‘cos you've only got bloke-sized ducts, same as anybody else, and they don't get any bigger, so.”

Zayn makes a displeased face. “Christ…”

Louis shrugs. “You get why I opted out o’ that bit.”

“But your nips still hurt.”

“It's the hormones. It's been worse since I got the IUD in. And I think it's making it harder to lose weight.”

Zayn looks him over. “You look fine to me,” he says.

“I dunno, I can't even tell anymore.”

“Quitting smoking doesn't help.”

“Oh, yeah,” Louis says evasively. He's actually been sneaking a cigarette once or twice a day out the bathroom window, but Zayn's been so proud of him for quitting, so he keeps up the charade.

“Like you a bit thicker, anyway,” Zayn says, pinching his bum again, then hands him the bottle. Louis rolls his eyes and settles the baby in the crook of his arm, easy as handling a football.

“Second one’s nice, innit?” he murmurs, watching Amir contendedly suckle. “Everything's like habit now.”

“Helps that he's so chill.”

“Aye, that too.”

“‘E takes after me,” Zayn says with a wink, and Louis makes a sound of protest.

 

LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, AUGUST 10, 2017

“Back up, boys,” one of the aircraft loaders shouts as they start rolling the Mystery Machine down the cargo ramp.

Zayn wraps an arm around Louis, and they take three steps back on the tarmac in unison. Zayn tips his sunglasses down over his nose, squinting.

“Babes,” he says, “it looks like shit, what've you done to it?”

“It's not even down here yet!” Louis says. “You can't tell --”

The van makes an ominous creak as it rolls more quickly down the ramp. They back up further, and Louis plops his arse down on the hood of his Aston Martin.

Zayn shakes his head. “It's all rusted an’ shit…”

“Well,” Louis exclaims, “it’s been sittin’ in me garage in London for two years.”

“I shouldnt’ve given you custody,” Zayn says.

There's a loud cracking noise. They watch, sitting in the shadow of the plane, as a flat tire pops off its axle and bounces wildly toward them.

Louis winces as it rolls by. Zayn draws his lip into his mouth.

“I was mad at you!” he exclaims. “I just sorta neglected it!”

The loaders roll it gently onto the tarmac, the bare axle making a dreadful scraping sound against the concrete. As they’re pushing it up into the moving truck, a side mirror falls off and shatters.

Zayn turns to Louis with an amazed expression, squinting against the sunset.

“Alright, remember ‘round the holidays before Mia was born, when we had that bad fight?” he says, with a guilty smile. “I sort of went out with a bat --”

“ _Louis!”_

“You _left_ me!”

“I didn't leave you! I just needed some time alone! You know how I am!”

“Whatever -- so I smashed it up a bit.”

“Aw, Tommo.”

“We’ll get her fixed up pretty, don't worry.”

They head over and scamper up into the truck.

“Careful,” Sean shouts from where he's lounging by the driver’s side door. “Watch your knee, Zayn.”

“I'm fine,” Zayn shouts. He digs a key out of his jeans pocket and yanks opens the back doors of the van. The smells of musty mildew and stale weed hit them in the face.

He turns to Louis and grins. “Smells the same as ever.”

“What, like skunk? Missing one smell, actually.”

“What's that?”

Louis smirks and mimes jerking off. “Bleach.”

“Right,” Zayn says in a low voice. “Let’s go ahead and fix that when we get back, yeah?”

 

*

 

Louis’ family is visiting, and they've stolen the kids off them for a couple days. “Relax, have a date night!” Lottie yelled at them as they stood in their doorway, anxiously watching their babies be whisked away.

Amir is still malleable enough to find comfort in most sets of warm arms, but Mia has had terrible separation anxiety lately, so Louis has already fielded a few phone calls.

She doesn't have great phone manners yet, but at least she recognizes his voice now, so when she tearfully says, “Daddy?” he can tell her, “Relax, sweetheart, I'll see you tomorrow,” and she'll let out a defeated little “Okay,” to which he says, guiltily, “I love you,” and she says back, “Ababoo.” Then he hands the phone to Zayn. “Love you, Yasmeen.” “Ababoo.”

The third time they do this, they're on the 10, following the moving truck home. Louis let Zayn drive, because when they were about to leave, Zayn had gifted him a very nicely-rolled blunt.

When Mia hangs up, he sets his phone in one of the cup holders and takes a deep drag.

“Hey, what's our anniversary?” he says, blinking hard. The weed is hitting him like a train; he hasn't smoked since he found out about Amir.

“September six, daft arse,” Zayn says.

“No, fuck off, not our wedding anniversary. When'd we start sleeping together?”

“Ohh, shit,” Zayn says, and gestures helplessly without letting go of the wheel. “No idea. January. You just sorta appeared in my hotel room one night?”

“What am I, an incubus?” They've been watching a lot of _Ghost Adventures._

“‘S’wot it felt like. Just…” Zayn shakes his head. “We’re smoking weed, I blink, suddenly I'm balls deep in you.”

Louis falls out giggling and takes another hard drag. “Absolutely not what happened… there was some snogging first.”

“Right, right,” Zayn says, cracking his window a bit. “I remember bein’ surprised you were such a good kisser.”

“You'd kissed me before.”

“As a joke, yeah.”

“No, no, remember that bender we went on? Remember the balcony in Paris?” Louis glances over at him, suddenly worried he'd made that memory up, but Zayn is smiling.

“Always thought you forgot about that,” he murmurs.

Louis never had. Standing there at the railing overlooking Sevigne Street and smoking, the moon and stars spread thickly overhead, the cool night air on his sweaty skin, his body so hot from molly, and Zayn’s every touch felt so good that he couldn't help but kiss him. It was alright, they were just friends. He even told Eleanor about it, and she said, only sort of offended, “Why don't _I_ get to snog you on balconies in Paris?”

“Nah,” Louis says. “Nah, I remembered that.”

He takes another long drag.

“Can we hit the Starbucks drive-thru?” he says.

 

*

 

Zayn isn't really sure how the sex ends up as rough as it does.

They have the banged-up Mystery Machine dumped into their ten-car garage, and Louis goes to fetch their weed stash while Zayn tapes up any gaps in the windows so they can hotbox it. They're lying in the back, stoned out of their minds on the built-in mattress, when Louis says, “So what was your plan, then, when you left on me birthday? Did you have like a date in mind, where you were gonna come back?”

“Ohh,” Zayn groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “I dunno. Can't we just forget about that?”

“I had,” Louis mutters. “I’m just curious, I swear. We never talked about it.”

“I was gonna come back. Me pride was hurt.”

“I was about to have the baby!”

“I wasn't gonna miss that.”

“You nearly did! If I hadn't come lookin’ for you, you would have! I would've given birth completely alone!”

“She came early!”

“And I warned you that could happen!”

“I was on a bit of a bender!”

“Oh, that's great --”

“Louis, I'm sorry, I've apologized --”

“What happened, in your mind?”

Zayn rubs at his temples. “I sort’ve thought we’d broken up for a bit. I realized how stupid it all was when the baby came. Remembered ‘ow much I loved you and her, ‘an everything.”

Louis is quiet. Zayn struggles to say what he wants to say, in the way he wants to say it.

“It was just a big fight,” Louis mutters. “I didn't think we broke up. I kept expecting you to come back, and you didn't.”

“I was angry. I didn't know what to do.”

“Well, I picked you. Not Liam.”

“It didn't feel like it, around then. You were like a ghost in my house.”

“I was really sad, and you were always gone all day…”

He’s plaintive, vulnerable. Zayn feels a great rush of frustration in him, so intense he can't put words to it. He'll never be enough for Louis, he thinks, and it gnaws at him like intestinal termites. Surely two people who need desperately to be adored and who adore each other shouldn't be so at odds like this. It doesn't make any sense to him, it never has.

Zayn rolls over and sits up, plucking the blunt out of Louis’ tattooed, nicotine-stained fingers. Louis looks up at him, sad-eyed and rakishly attractive.

It takes a few tries to light -- flick, flame, stutter, flick, flame. He takes in a deep drag. He's already light-headed and lead-limbed from how much they've smoked and how much is still hanging thickly in the air, and this tosses him over the edge, making his brain shift into another gear.

He feels like he's about to have a panic attack.

Next to him, Louis is pulling down his joggers and taking the blunt from Zayn, sucking off it and discarding it, coughing -- and Zayn is tearing his joggers off of him, tearing his own jeans off, then pulling Louis’ briefs down and wrapping a hand around his cock as it flops out.

He snogs Louis hard, beginning to jerk him off, fingering him with his other hand. Louis makes a soft noise, grasping at his still-short hair. They kiss roughly, teeth clicking, biting each other’s lips. Zayn shoves his tongue hard into Louis’ mouth, and Louis bucks his hips up into Zayn’s hands.

They roll over, crushing a can of beer underneath them, legs splayed together. Louis bites down so hard on Zayn’s lip that he bleeds -- he doesn't feel it, he's so high, but he tastes the iron and there's a distant, numb sting.

“Why don't you just yell at me?” Louis growls at him. “All you do when we fight lately is walk out o’ the room. Why don't we yell?”

“I thought you didn't want to,” Zayn mutters, shoving two more fingers inside him, and Louis gasps breathily in his ear.

“Anythin’ but you walking away from me…”

Zayn sucks a violent lovebite onto his throat, wanting to leave a big ugly mark on him.

“I haven't _wanted_ to fight,” he says, pushing his cock into Louis, who inhales and lets his head fall back.

“‘Cos you've been stoned on Xanax all the time!”

“You're the only who told me to keep taking it!”

“I didn't mean for eight straight months!”

Zayn starts fucking him, hard, and Louis wraps his legs around him, clawing his back and neck with his nails.

“Fine,” Zayn barks, “I’ll -- fuck -- I'll quit tomorrow --”

“Don't, ahh, don’t, the withdrawals are nasty --”

“I'm runnin’ out anyway --”

“Alright,” Louis gasps, “shut up, just fuck me --”

“I know you ‘aven't really quit smoking,” Zayn says as one final dig, and then says nothing else, because he wants to put more hickies on him.

They fuck for five minutes that feel longer, biting each other, scratching and clawing each other, Louis sinking his nails into Zayn's arse and Zayn pulling out of Louis so he can flip him over, come on his back and then spank him hard, which makes Louis moan low and nasty with guilty gratification. Zayn spanks him again, twice, and he makes a strangled noise then rolls over: Zayn sees that he's come, too, splattered across the fronts of his thighs.

When it's over they lie together breathing heavily. Zayn’s cheek stings; Louis must have scraped him by accident. The flat of his hand stings, too, from the impact against Louis’ arse, and realizing this makes him feel guilty and pull him close.

Louis doesn't seem upset at all, though -- if anything he seems subdued, almost relieved. He curls up against Zayn, arm wrapped around his ribs. Zayn trails his fingers through Louis’ hair.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“About what?”

“Just… y’know.”

Louis sits up and gazes at him. “I’m sorry the Liam thing hurt you as bad as it did.”

Zayn tries to respond but he can't. His chest aches even thinking about it. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t do it to hurt you. I was so lonely after you left, and he was really good to me, and I was so scared to be a single dad, to raise our kid alone --”

He shakes his head hard. “Louis, I -- I don't wanna know --”

“Sorry. I'm just saying. It wasn't vindictive.”

“I didn't think it was, babes,” Zayn murmurs, although a part of him had. “But…”

“But?”

“You saw him as an out. Even after I had you move in with me. After I told you I wanted to give it a go and raise the baby together, as a family, you kept sneakin’ calls wiv him, complaining about me to him --” His threat seizes up. “It wasn't fair.”

“You were leaving me alone all day and night --”

“It still wasn't fair, Louis!”

Louis strokes his face. “No,” he murmurs. “No, it wasn't. Look, I never told you what happened at the Brits.”

Zayn is paralyzed with anxiety. He stares at Louis, who looks away and sighs, crinkling his little nose.

“I went to Nick’s afterparty with him,” he says quietly. “He was really drunk. Don't blame him for this. I think he was really, y’know, going through it over me, and the end of the band. And he tried to kiss me.”

Zayn’s blood runs cold.

“You're not fuckin’ serious,” he spits.

“I pushed him away,” Louis says, shooting him a woebegone look. “That's the only reason I'm telling you this, I want you to know I pushed him away. I told him he had no right, I said leave me alone, leave my family alone, don't contact me. And he didn't. Since that, I hadn't talked to him ‘til the band meeting.”

“Arsehole.” Zayn sits up, clutching his knees to his chest. “Piece of fuckin’... I can't believe him.”

“Zayn, he felt awful about it, he apologized and he did exactly what I asked. He's got his own missus and his own baby, now. My point is I'm devoted to you, to our family, alright?”

Zayn stares at him, in the dark haze of the van. “Did you want to kiss him back?”

Louis shakes his head.

“Were you in love with him?”

Louis swallows with difficulty. “I had feelings for him.”

Zayn looks away, his eyes burning, his jaw tight. His stomach is roiling with disappointment and brutal anger. “Fuckin’...”

“Wasn't like I am with you,” he says. “Was never like what we have now.”

“Louis…”

“I didn't tell you this shit to hurt you.” He looks gutted.

“It's just really fuckin’ hard to hear.”

“I know.”

“And you're so suspicious of me,” he mutters, “so convinced I'm gonna cheat.”

“God, Zayn -- let’s not do this --” Louis sits back on his heels, wrapping his arms around himself. “You wanna spank me a couple more times?”

He chokes out a laugh.  “C’mere…”

Louis drapes himself over him like a sock monkey, kissing him on the cheekbone. “Liam's not who my life is with,” he whispers. “He's not me husband. He's not my kids’ daddy. That's you.”

“I know,” Zayn whispers, and he closes his eyes, resting their temples together.

“Let’s have a date night,” Louis murmurs.

“Yeah? You wanna go see Dunkirk?”

“Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha. No, I was thinking, I got tickets to Mayweather McGregor. I was gonna go with Oli, but why don't we make it a trip for us? We’ll get a nice room at the Bellagio, play some poker, watch ‘em beat each other’s ‘eads in and drink champagne, then go fuck all night.”

“Sounds nice,” Zayn admits.

“Yeah, love,” Louis purrs, biting at his ear.

 

*

 

That night, Zayn feels creative for the first time in months; he goes into their soundproof listening room and feverishly fills up a notebook with lyrics, writing late into the evening, stopping only when Louis appears in the doorway with the baby in his arms and asks quietly, “Hey, you coming to bed?”

 

LOS ANGELES, AUGUST 17, 2017

“Zayn,” Dr. Lowenstein says, looking guilty and resting his white-coated arse against his desk. “I'm afraid I can't write you any more Xanax prescriptions.”

Zayn is sitting on the dumb little exam table, paper crinkling under his jeans. The wooden blinds are drawn, making light fall in slanted strips across the office, the bookshelves, the potted ferns. He doesn't say anything.

“I can write you enough so you can wean yourself off of it,” he says, “but it's a scheduled, dangerous drug, and I've been giving you too much.”

Celebrity doctors are so antsy, lately, Zayn thinks. Nobody wants to be the next Conrad Murray, or whoever the bloke was that gave Prince all that Oxycodone.

“But it's helping me,” he says, puzzled and annoyed.

“It's a temporary band-aid on a more significant problem.”

Zayn is aware if he doesn't keep taking benzos, he'll go back to drinking all the time and smoking weed. He's too smart to say this to Lowenstein, who had been recommended to him as a Dr. Feelgood but is now turning out to be nothing more than a big pussy.

“But I need it, like,” he says, “to be a dad.”

Dr. Lowenstein looks alarmed by this. His color drops under his very dark tan.

“Not literally,” Zayn adds. “But, I dunno, I worry about them -- if I leave ‘em with the nanny or Louis is out and I'm alone -- it's like, I dunno.”

A paralyzing, exhausting cycle of repeating thoughts of disaster, ad infinitum.

“I’d like you to see a psychiatrist,” Dr. Lowenstein says gently.

Zayn shakes his head. “Fuck off,” he mutters, sliding off the table and grabbing his keys and wallet where he left them on the chair. “Forget it, I've got enough left, I can wean meself off --”

“Zayn --”

“Plenty of people are anxious, mate! Everybody’s anxious these days!”

“Zayn, your anxiety significantly impacts your life. Look -- if you go see a psychiatrist, and they give me the go ahead to write you more scrips, I will, okay?”

Zayn pauses. He was just going to go text some of the dealers he knows, but this might be faster.

And he sort of hopes a psychiatrist would reassure him, at least a bit. _Oh, yeah, mate, everyone has uncontrollable constant mental images of them finding their baby dead in his crib, totally normal, here's some more Xannies, ta._

“Fine,” he says warily. “Give me a name and number.”

 

*

 

**Check next to any symptoms you have experienced together within any period of two weeks in the past year.**

 

_Lacking the desire to sleep or the need for normal amounts of sleep._

 

Zayn shifts on the leather seat and checks yes.

 

_Having an exaggerated sense of self-worth._

_Experiencing an excessive amount of racing thoughts._

_Taking on an excessive workload or number or projects._

_Unexpected increase or decrease in appetite or weight._

 

On and on down the list. Zayn isn't sure why he's even taking this quiz -- this Dr. Clark seemed to agree that he’s clearly anxious and intermittently depressed, but the more he talked about his symptoms, the more the doctor’s eyebrows furrowed, and then before Zayn knew what was happening he was being handed this piece of paper and a clipboard and asked to check what applies. So he does. Check check check.

When he finally hands it back over to Dr. Clark, he gives Zayn a curt nod and then settles back in his desk chair, rubbing at his neat gray beard as he reads.

Zayn sits, his leg bouncing.

“Okay,” Dr. Clark says. “So, I'll start with this. While I don't think you've ever experienced a full-blown manic episode --”

Zayn stretches, yawning. “I could've told you that, mate.”

“-- I do believe you've experienced episodes of hypomania.”

Zayn stills. The air hangs in this room -- musty, suffocating. He wishes there was a fan on.

“What’s hypomania?”

“A kind of low-level mania. You said yes to experiencing many of the key markers within a short period of time -- lower need for sleep, inflated self-esteem, impulsive decisions, excessive consumption of drugs or alcohol, flight of ideas, hypersexuality --”

“Whoa, hang on, that's just --” Zayn drags his teeth over his lip. “Yeah, but that shit adds up. I'm young, I'm famous, I've got a lot of money, I’m around people who egg me on to do stupid shit --”

“Something that people don't realize is how similar generalized anxiety disorder can be to bipolar two,” Clark says, and he cuts his light eyed-gaze over at Zayn. “They can exist comorbidly, or the anxiety can also be a symptom of bipolar. In that case, the anxiety feels like this state of --” He gestures hard in front his chest. “It feels like this chronic agitation. You're easily annoyed, your thoughts are racing, your mind is unsettled, you're physically unsettled, you feel like you're going to explode --”

Zayn thinks, suddenly, of 2015.

“And,” Clark says, “in that case, it can be very tempting to self-medicate with depressants. Alcohol, marijuana, benzodiazepines. And that kind of self-medication continues to be tempting during the depressive episodes --”

“Stop --”

“-- which makes substance abuse more common in bipolar patients --”

“What're you saying?” Zayn snaps. “I'm a fuckin’ nutter, is that it? ‘Ow about the situations in me life that drove me to feel like that? Where was that question on your fuckin’ checklist? ‘Were you trapped in a bubble for five years, doing shit you hated, and had everybody scrutinizing your every move, all the time? Did you have a kid and a husband shoved on you at twenty-two?’”

“Zayn,” Dr. Clark says, “I'm not criticizing you or your behavior.”

“You're pathologizing me!”

“I’m giving you a possible explanation.”

Zayn sits there, biting at the inside of his cheek, angry in a way he can't articulate.

Clark studies him. “I can't, in good conscience, allow Dr. Lowenstein to prescribe you endless amounts of Xanax when a regimen of SSRIs and CBT-focused therapy would be more appropriate to your long-term wellbeing.”

“Fine,” Zayn snaps, getting to his feet and snatching up his jacket. “I'll get it somewhere else.”

 

*

 

He decides not to, though.

He comes home to Louis rushing around shouting that he's going to be late for his label meeting because Amir spit up all over him at the last minute -- he gives Zayn a peck on the cheek, then runs out, and Zayn is left with the kids. He takes them into the sitting room and chills on the couch, a full Amir asleep on his chest, while Mia sits at his feet and draws dutifully in a coloring book.

And he starts reading on his phone about how you can die of benzo withdrawals, which makes him imagine poor Louis waking up next to his body, and he resolves right then to wean himself off them and then forget them entirely.

Clark still doesn't know what he's talking about, though. He has no idea what Zayn's life is like. He doesn't know the kind of pressure he's under. Any famous person would seem bipolar based off that checklist. Any of them.

 

LOS ANGELES, SEPTEMBER 2, 2017

Louis is relieved to be going out. He feels like he's been drowning in parenting, lately, and Zayn’s gone all the time again recording and doing promo, so he’s felt a bit like a single dad. The other day he had to rush Mia to the pediatrician after she got a bead stuck up her nose, and Amir had kept him up colicking the entire night before. Dr. Emory had apparently brought her back out to the waiting room to find Louis passed out in a chair snoring, with Amir asleep on the floor, still strapped into his car seat.

And when Zayn is home, he's still not doing great, still prickly, exhausted, withdrawn. Louis gets it, though, because he's working on music too, and when they aren't working, any of their leftover energy goes to the kids. They're both burned out.

But it makes Louis terribly lonely. And it's boring, too, to be alone with the kids most of the time. He's still at the lonely stage of his songwriting; he's got some writing sessions scheduled for later in the fall, but mostly his days are a blur of chasing Mia around and then waking several times during the night to blearily feed Amir while he watches Riverdale, which he sort of hates but can't stop bingeing.

So he's excited to have some adult time with Zayn, even though they're going out to a stupid molecular mixology gastropub with Zayn’s manager, Pauly, who Louis hates.

They snog in the car all the way downtown. They pregamed a bit together, and they're both giggly and flirty. Streetlights catch in the corner of Louis’ eyes as they slow to a crawl on North Cahuenga; he shuts them again and leans back into Zayn’s mouth. He tastes like minty gum and liquor.

Zayn is eager tonight, groping at his bum and sucking at his lip. When they get there, their driver idles patiently outside the valet stand while Louis tries to wrest himself away, laughing, “Zayn, Zayn, c’mon, mate, this is _your_ meeting --”

“Alright, alright,” Zayn mutters, and gives Louis’ cock a passing grab, making him inhale. “Later, though.”

“Aye, later,” he purrs.

The gastropub just opened a few weeks ago, and it's packed, with a line of impatient-looking people in cocktail attire going out the door and wrapping around down the sidewalk. Zayn takes Louis by the hand and leads him up the steps, through the crowd and up to the hostess, who smiles at them in recognition.

“Hi, Mr. Malik,” she chirps. “Mr. DiStefano just got here, I'll take you two up to the balcony.”

Inside, the restaurant is thumping with European techno that's just loud enough to have to raise your voice over. The tables are all metallic black and circular, and the lighting is dim and dark blue. It feels like being inside a Bud Light Platinum bottle.

On the first floor, there's a massive bar in the middle of the room where the mixologists are doing ridiculous things with dry ice in front of the customers, like an alcoholic Benihana, but she takes them up the stairs and toward the back of the balcony. Pauly is sitting at a table, looking down at his phone, dressed like an absolute douchebag. He smiles greasily when they walk up, and gives Zayn a bro-y slap on the back, then flicks his eyes over to Louis.

“Hey there, Tomlinson, didn't realize you'd be joining us,” he says.

“Yeah, Zayn wants me to take a more active role in his career,” Louis says, and tips his chin up so he hears this as the threat it is. Pauly, he knows, has been urging Zayn to tour again, despite Zayn’s unequivocal antipathy on the matter.

Pauly smiles at him with zero warmth. “Well, it’s good to see you,” he says, then gives him a two-fingered poke in the stomach. “You're bouncing back nicely… congrats.”

His tone is condescending, intentionally emasculating. Pauly doesn't like his 20% of Zayn’s gross threatened, and he doesn't like Louis protecting his husband by encouraging him not to tour, because a tour would be a cash cow. So at the end of the day this is what it always comes down to -- unsubtly reminding Louis about his babies, and his place in the world. At home, or shunted to the side, not in the spotlight, not pulling the strings. From day one, that's how people like Pauly have wanted it, ever since some executive at Sony said that it was okay for the band to be open about him being an omega, because he was little and cute and had a girlfriend besides. “He can be the harmless one!” he'd said.

Hot anger leaps into Louis’ throat, and he recoils from Pauly’s fingers. He opens his mouth, but Zayn squeezes his hand, and he shuts it again. They sit down.

“So how are your kids?” Pauly says, waving the waitress over.

Louis pointedly doesn't answer, even though Zayn glances over at him like he expects him to.

“Ahh, they're good,” Zayn mumbles. “Yas got a bead stuck up her nose the other day.”

“Yeah?” Pauly says, with limited interest, and then turns to the waitress, who's teetering beside them on stack heels, smiling politely. “I'll have the gin fizz marshmallows, hon.”

"Excellent choice."

Louis scoots over to peek at Zayn's menu. Zayn settles his hand on Louis’ thigh and rubs back and forth absent-mindedly as he looks over the selection.

“Can I get the quince sour?” he says, glancing up.

“I'll have the same,” Louis adds.

“Sure thing, gentlemen,” she says, and takes their menus. “I'll have those right out for you.”

“So,” Pauly says, “I hear album two is coming right along.”

Zayn takes a long drink of ice water. His hand is still on Louis’ thigh. “Yeah.”

Louis laces their fingers together and glances over at Pauly in the blue darkness. The dry ice downstairs is making thin billows of smoke rise up into the balcony, giving him a more sinister air.

He looks back at Louis, his expression half amused and half annoyed. He rubs at his goatee, then says, “I think we’re going to need way more aggressive promo this time.”

“I know,” Zayn mutters.

“It wasn't aggressive enough to begin with, and now you've totally lost the only advantage you had, which was being the first one out of the gate.”

“Dude, I know.”

“And Spotify is nothing,” Pauly says. “Spotify is negative money, actually.”

“Let’s take my shit off, then,” Zayn snaps. “Let’s go to Tidal! I dunno!”

Louis squeezes his hand, like, _relax_. Zayn rubs his thumb over Louis’ pinky.

Pauly spreads his hands and inhales, bobbing his head from side to side. “That's just not real money, Zayn.”

“I don't want to tour.”

“That's something I don't get. You toured for five years. What's the issue?” Pauly flicks his eyes briefly over at Louis. “Is it the kids?”

Louis presses his tongue to the backs of his teeth.

“I hated it,” Zayn says. “I always hated it. It was hard enough with four other people to bounce off of.”

“It's where all the money is.”

“I’ve got enough money, thanks.

“If we don't play this with an eye toward keeping you relevant, a day’s gonna come, a few years from now, where the fantastic opportunities start to dry up. The features, the movies, the interviews, all of it. And that's how people end up on _Dancing With The Stars._ ”

Louis laughs, because he thinks Zayn would rather die than go on _Dancing With The Stars_.

“Yeah, people, other people,” Zayn says, sort of ungraciously. “Not me. My fans are loyal, and they're smart, and I'm giving them what a lot of them wanted all along.”

“So is Harry Styles,” Pauly says.

Zayn makes a disgusted scoffing noise. “Yeah, fuckin’ whatever. We've been through this. I've been dragged through this a million times. I'm not competing with him. And anyway, I'm not aping somebody, like he is. I'm just being myself and makin’ music. People who like it, like it, and they're gonna buy my shit, they don't need me to drag myself up on stage and play a worse version of shit they've already listened to. I don't need any of it, it's fine, there's other ways to stay relevant. There's fashion, social media, there's social media, there's shit I want to expand into.”

Pauly is visibly unmoved by all of this. His eyes might as well be inert dollar signs in his face. “I'll ask again once the album’s out,” he says. “Maybe the numbers will change your mind.”

“Good luck with that,” Zayn snaps.

They’re interrupted by the sound of a rolling cart; they turn and see the waitress bringing their weird solid cocktails to them.

They sit there in silence. Pauly and Louis pick at theirs in confused curiosity. Zayn pounds his.

“Barely any liquor in that,” he mutters.

“Yeah, it's all about…” Pauly makes an Italian chef hand gesture. “Presentation.”

“Can I get a normal drink here?” Zayn turns to the waitress. “Hey, love, you all got normal drinks? Like in a glass?”

She pulls her pen out. “Absolutely! What can I get you?”

“Double jack and Coke.”

Louis squeezes Zayn’s hand some more. He feels him slipping; he wants him to come back.

Zayn seems to sense this, and wraps an arm around him, but he's still jittery and unhappy. His leg is bouncing under Louis’ hand.

“Speaking of fashion,” Pauly says, glancing up, “and TV, and all that, you had a lot of project ideas you were floating to me when you first left the band, and then again last year, and you've dropped almost all of those.”

“Some of those I floated, um, before I knew we were gonna have another baby,” Zayn says.

Louis feels a hot prickly guilt at this. He keeps his chin up, because Pauly is eyeing him.

“Zayn,” he says, “the kids -- it’s like, whatever, you know? You've got nannies, right? You've got your husband here.” He gestures blithely at Louis. “Doesn't he do most of the childcare?”

“We split it,” Louis snaps. “Zayn's an involved dad, as much as he can be. And he wants to be. And everything you're talking about drags him away from that.”

He's testy, but it's hard not to be; his loneliness lately has been reminding him of the awful long evenings he spent alone in Zayn’s house, when he was pregnant with Mia, and Zayn was always in the studio.

“Okay,” Pauly says, and puts a hand up. “Look, your domestic life is your business. And you should decide who and what you want to be, Zayn. I'm just saying, don't take this shit for granted. Your fans, whatever. I know they seem so loyal, obsessed even, but in the end it does all go away. It takes maintenance and constant hard work. I don't want to see a talent like you just fade out.”

“I'm not gonna fade out,” Zayn mutters.

“Okay,” Pauly repeats.

The waitress brings his jack and coke. Zayn drops his arm from Louis’ shoulder and downs half of it.

 

*

 

Zayn’s quiet on the car ride back. Louis keeps glancing over at him; he’s handsome in the soft streetlight streaming in the windows, but he looks distant, and his brow is knit.

“Babe,” Louis murmurs to him after a few minutes, reaching out to touch his face, running his fingers along his stubbly jaw. “C’mon… what's up?”

“Just thinking,” Zayn says, and smiles at him. “Sorry we didn't get our fun date night.”

“Hey, it ain't over ‘til it's over,” he purrs, and presses a kiss to Zayn’s mouth. Zayn kisses him back needily, stroking his hair. Louis reaches down and starts to massage his cock, and Zayn inhales and shifts against the leather seats. “I need a good dicking from me husband… you gonna give it to me?”

Zayn glances behind him at their driver and hits the button for the partition to go up. “Yeah,” he says huskily. “I can do that…”

 

*

 

“I sort of think he's right,” Zayn murmurs.

He's lying back on their bed, stripped naked, skin glowing in the darkness. He looks vulnerable in this position, like a baroque painting of St. Sebastian.

Louis peels his jeans off and crawls over the bed to him, nuzzling against the heat of his body. Zayn runs his fingers through Louis’ hair, and Louis takes Zayn’s hard cock in his hand, stroking it.

“About what?” he murmurs, making eye contact.

Zayn shrugs, his shoulders jumping up against the dark sheets. “Maybe this is it. I blew it. Harry’s gonna edge me out, and I don't stand a chance against him.”

“That's not true,” Louis insists. He lubes Zayn up and then settles slowly down onto him. Zayn’s eyelids flutter, and he tips his head back, exhaling.

Louis starts riding him with languorous rolls of his hips. Zayn moans.

“No, admit it,” he slurs. “I don't want it enough, do I? Not as much as --” He doesn't say Harry’s name again, thankfully. “All I care about’s the product, I can't do the marketing an’ campaigning like he can. I've got two little kids, and I don't want to tour, so I lost already, I'm the loser… My music's better, but I'm the loser? What the fuck?”

“You're not a _loser_.” Louis lets out a hiccupy exhale, then lays down across Zayn, kissing him messily. “Look at me… you're not.”

Zayn doesn't answer, but he sucks at his bottom lip and starts to thrust up into him. Louis moans softly. His liquor-fuzzy brain is heavy with arousal; it drips down his spine and settles in his pelvis.

“You're not a loser,” he breathes against Zayn’s throat, and inhales, breathing in the primal, satisfying smell of him.

There's nothing for a moment but soft sounds of effort from each of them, and then Zayn wraps an arm around his waist and flips him onto his back, fucking him more vigorously.

Louis nods and moans, reaching up to stroke Zayn’s cheek and jaw. They stare into each other’s eyes. Gooseflesh rises on Louis’ arms.

“I won't let you be -- be a loser,” Louis moans. “I won't.”

Zayn grabs his hair, tightening his fist so it’s just how Louis likes it, just painful enough for him to enjoy, and says, breath hitching, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Louis exhales. “Love you so much. Fuck.”

“I'm gonna show you how much, gonna fuck the shit out of you…”

“Yeah, yeah -- fuck me, fuck the shit out of me…”

Zayn presses his hands to the bed on either side of Louis and starts working his hips more urgently, thrusting almost like he's trying to hurt him. Louis lets out a whiny moan, and as if to placate him, Zayn takes his cock in his hand and starts to rub him off.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and writhes against the bed, overstimulated but enjoying it.

“You're so hot when I fuck you,” Zayn growls in his ear. “You love it so much…”

“Yeah,” Louis cries, his voice husky and cracking. “You know I do… I’m a dirty little slut for you, I'm a slut for your cock --”

Zayn snogs him hard, their teeth clicking, and bites down on his lip. “You're _my_ slut…”

“I’m your slut, yeah, yeah, I'm all yours...”

Zayn comes shortly after this, and collapses against Louis, pressing his forehead to Louis’ collarbone. Louis strokes his the dark sleekness of his hair.

“I love you,” Zayn murmurs again. He sounds exhausted.

“I love you too…”

Zayn seems to be falling asleep. Louis, pinned under him, clears his throat. “Hey,” he whispers. “Babe…”

Zayn grunts.

“I didn't come.”

“Right.” Zayn pulls out and rolls off him, starting to stroke him again, fumbling in the dark. After a minute his wrist gets tired, and he slides down on the bed to start sucking Louis off.

His mouth is greedy and careless with drunkenness, which makes it hotter. Louis comes after just a bit of this, moaning, orgasm blooming dark behind his eyes. Zayn spits delicately into his hand and then wipes it off with a tissue from the nightstand. Then he rolls Louis onto his side and spoons him, holding him tight, childishly possessive, like he's afraid someone will come in and steal him away.

Louis melts in his arms, love thumping in his veins. Zayn presses kiss after kiss to the back of his neck. There's something frantic in him, almost panicky; Louis chalks it up to stress from the shitty dinner.

“Thanks,” Zayn murmurs after a while, once he's settled down and they've both grown sleepy. “Think I needed that.”

Louis laces their hands together, squeezing his.

 

LOS ANGELES, JANUARY 11, 2018

Louis slips his headphones off, squinting into the studio lights. “That sound alright?”

Shawn hits the intercom, coughs, then says, “Fantastic, Lou. If you wanna give it one more shot, you can come over and listen and tell me what you think.”

“Aye, one more,” he says, slipping the headphones back on.

The song is the first one he's recorded for this album that doesn't have a feature, so all he's harmonizing with is his own voice, all he's hearing is the instrumentation. It feels weird, thrilling and a bit lonely. This one’s about Zayn, but it really isn't -- it's about losing your innocence in general, and he lost that without Zayn's help, although he did lose a lot of it at his side. The most tender, crooning parts of it, though, are about Zayn, and the strangeness of love in general, of being an open wound.

He finishes, to enthusiastic applause from the control room that makes him grin sheepishly.

When he comes out the door, there's Zayn himself, holding Amir and smiling.

“Hey,” Louis exclaims. “What’re you doing here?”

“Miss Yasmeen had a playdate, so I thought we'd drop by,” Zayn says with a sweet smile. He waves Amir’s little hand at Louis. “Listen t’ Daddy sing.”

Amir coos something half-intelligible and beams at Louis, who beams back.

“How'd it sound?”

“Good,” Zayn says. “Really good… Vulnerable. Sort of made me sad.”

“Louis always makes me sad,” Shawn says with a smile, resting his big fist against one ruddy cheek. “He has that quality, I can't put my finger on it, but I always want to go in there and give him a hug when he's done.”

“Aww, c’mon…”

“It's not a bad thing!”

Amir is fussing and burbling in Zayn’s arms; he digs his keys out of his pockets and dangles them for him. Amir grabs for them.

“Oh, no,” Zayn says with a laugh, dancing them away from him and giving him a kiss on the head. “Let's not. I gotta take that Swiss Army knife off of there.”

Louis watches them in relief; Zayn’s been in a bad mood again lately as he finishes up his album. He likes seeing him cheery and relaxed like this.

“Ready to listen?” Shawn says, glancing up. Louis nods, so he hits play on the first take.

He and Zayn listen with practiced ears, trying to pick out wobbly notes. But Amir goes quiet, tilting his head with curiosity, seeming to enjoy the sound of Louis’ voice.

“That's funny,” Zayn says, smiling down at him.

“We do sing to them a lot,” Louis murmurs. He chucks Amir under the chin. “I used to sing to him in my tummy...”

Zayn passes their son over to him, and Amir clings to Louis’ shirt, burbling sweetly. Louis hangs onto him tight, closing his eyes as the sound of his own melancholy voice fills the room.

 

*

 

That night, Louis gets the kids to bed and comes downstairs to find Zayn in the kitchen, opening a bottle of very old whiskey that Ed gave them when he heard they got married.

He pours himself a glass, straight up, then one for Louis, and toasts him.

“As of today,” Zayn says, draining half his glass, “me final mix is in, your album is half finished, and our collab drops in…” He looks at his phone. It lights up his face in the dim room. “Two months.”

“Right after Amir’s birthday,” Louis says, sipping the whiskey. He coughs and sticks his tongue out. It's extremely strong. He doesn't know how Zayn can stand there drinking it like it's water.

“Right,” Zayn says, toasting him again. “‘S’important. Dates’re important. Numbers.”

He's already tipsy, but in a cute way. Louis smiles at him.

“Numbers are the handwriting of God,” Zayn says, pointing at him, tumbler in hand. “Einstein said that.”

Louis squints. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Cos I swear that's from a movie.”

“Nah.”

“It is, ‘cos we watched it together. I'm looking this up.”

He starts typing. Zayn shakes his head in disbelief.

“It is!” Louis holds his phone up. “ _Pacific Rim_.”

Zayn gives the screen a wobbly stare. “Seriously? Sounds way too deep to be from _Pacific Rim_.”

“It is, mate.”

“That's embarrassing.”

Louis laughs and sidles up behind him, wrapping his arms around his slender waist and gripping his shirt. He kisses the back of his neck. “Could be worse.”

“Yeah?”

“Hey, remember when Liam thought psychiatry wasn't a word?”

It's chancey, mentioning Liam. But after a moment of silence, Zayn starts to laugh, and then they're both laughing so hard they have to set their whiskey down.

"Einstein said, um." Zayn closes his eyes, thinking. "God doesn't gamble with the universe? Play dice. 'E doesn't play dice with the universe."

"Doesn't he?" Louis murmurs, one arm still around his waist. "I feel like me life's a bit random... don't you?"

"I dunno," Zayn says. "Maybe. Like to think I've got more control over it than that."

"I don't feel like I've got much control at all. Maybe about how I react, but not with what actually happens."

"You mean about the kids?"

Louis shrugs. "Nah, everything."

"Right."

"You don't feel the same way," he murmurs.

Zayn shrugs. "My life's in my hands, at the end of the day."

Louis studies him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"Um... why didn't you want me to get an abortion? The second time."

Zayn heaves a sigh and slips out from his grip so he can pour himself more whiskey. Louis watches him nervously.

"Sort of felt ridiculous you even considered it," he says, with drunken tactlessness. "We already had a kid, we were in a serious relationship. You didn't consider aborting Mia."

"I did," Louis says sharply. "At first, I absolutely did. It was what everyone was pressuring me to do, and you'd abandoned me, and I was on a massive world tour. I had to think seriously about it, just like I did with Amir, but you got so angry at me for it the second time --"

"It's different!" Zayn snaps. "It felt like you rejecting this life we made together!"

"D'you understand how hard it is? No, you've got no fuckin' idea -- I was throwing up for months and months, I was miserable, my pelvis still hurts, my back's bothering me all the time, and we had a young baby already --"

"I took care of you! I told you I would!"

"I know! Thank you!"

"An' anyway, you didn't even tell me about our daughter 'til you'd already made up your mind, then after three months with no contact, stormed into me mum's house and yelled at me that I was gonna be a deadbeat before I could even process I was gonna be a dad --"

"Sorry, who wasn't contacting who?" Louis says tartly. "Does calling me a bitchy loser count as contact, or something?"

Zayn inhales deeply and rubs his eyes. "Why're we arguing," he mutters. 

"I wanted her. And I wanted him, too," Louis mutters. "You know I did. I was just overwhelmed, I was afraid it'd be too much for us."

Even now, he's still afraid that it is. He tries to ignore the glass of whiskey, glittering in his peripheral vision. 

Zayn draws back from him and kisses him on the mouth. He tastes like bitter alcohol. 

 

LOS ANGELES, MARCH 28, 2018

Liam is winding slowly through the Valley, inching along in steady traffic, when the DJ says, “And now we have the new single from Zayn Malik, just dropped today -- and does it sound a little pointed to you, Lindsay?”

“Oh, yeah, he's pissed at somebody for sure.”

“Well, we’ll let you guys decide that for yourselves -- here it is, _Find Out_ from Zayn.”

Liam is going to change the station, but the first line stops him in his tracks.

_“Try to break up my family --”_

He freezes, fingers hovering over the touchscreen. The Audi in front of him stops short, and he comes very close to clipping its bumper.

_“-- you'll find out all about me, find out somethin’ nasty, ain't seen you in years now, and that's how I like it --”_

He fumbles for his phone, his heart thumping, and rings Louis.

It takes him ages to pick up. “Ayy!” he shouts, over a lot of other voices in the background. “Bad timing, Payno, about to go into a meeting, what's up?”

“Is Zayn’s single about you and me?”

“What? No, what d’you mean?”

“Listen to this,” Liam says, and holds his phone to the radio.

When he puts the phone back to his ear, Louis says, “I've never even heard that before, the fuck? I thought his first single was gonna drop tomorrow… it was a collab between us. They must’ve switched it last minute. Look, I can't talk, I gotta go -- but I'm sure it's not about you, bruv --”

“You're completely sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, he wouldn't do that -- look, I'll talk to you later --”

“Alright, alright, bye --”

“Bye!”

They ring off. Liam sits there, anxiety rising in his throat.

 

*

**iMessage**

**Sun, March 28,** 5:32 p.m.

 

Harry

_Liam.. You have a diss track... congratulations. You officially broke into hip-hop_

 

Niall

_Wait what ??? I’ve been golfing all day what happened_

 

Harry

_Zayn’s single is about him_

Liam

_it might not be!!_

 

Harry

_Sorry but it definitely is_

Liam

 _I talked to Tommo and he swore it isn’t_  

Harry

_Lol_

_Right never mind then, my mistake_

 

Niall

_is it on spotify_

 

Harry

_Yeah spotify, the radio, everything_

 

Niall

_Ok i’m listening_

_this is catchy_

_actually this is really ducking catchy_

Liam

_niaaaaaaaaall!!!!!_

Niall

_what ?? You said it wasn’t about you_

_This is definitely about you though_

_Oh ouch ! Yeah. this is about you_

 

Harry

_Want to hear something funny?_

Liam

_not really..._

Harry

_Taylor has a writing credit on this_

 

Niall

_HAAAAAAAAA_

_thats so dumb ! what !_

 

Harry

_I thought something was up, because Zayn just isn’t this diabolical by nature_

Liam

 _isn’t he? April 25 album release_

Harry

_I feel like that one was also someone else’s idea_

Liam

‘ _someone’, rhymes with otty doy_

Niall

_I can’t stop listening to this song_

_bit of a banger unfortunately_

 Liam

_Niall pleeeeeease_

_  
_ Niall

_harry dates zayn, harry dates taylor, louis dates zayn, louis dates liam, louis dates zayn, taylor writes a whole album about harry, zayn writes a song with taylor, harry writes a song about taylor, taylor helps zayn write a song about liam_

 

Harry

_And how does Selena fit into all this_

 

Niall

_Aw thats a low blow_

 

Harry

_xx_

 

Liam

_people aren’t going to connect the dots are they?_

_about me and louis?_

Harry

_They probably will mate_

_Does Ceci not know about you two?_

Liam

_No she has no idea_

Niall

_LEEEEEEEEEEYum_

_What are ye doing boy !_

Liam

_i was with him for such a short time!_

_it didn’t seem like something i needed to tell her_

Harry

_Tell her before someone talks to the press_

Liam

_i will_

Harry

 _Payno I just realized... you're Becky_  

Liam

_???_

Harry

_Becky with the good hair_

 

Niall

_Becky with the good abs_

Liam

_:((((_

 

 

*

 

“Hullo,” Zayn's voice rings through the house.

Louis looks up from his laptop. Mia, who’s sitting next to him in the conversation pit, stops prying off her doll’s head and tosses the whole thing aside, shouting, “Daddy!”

She runs for him as he appears in the hallway, and he picks her up, swinging her around and grinning.

Louis stares at him over his shoulder. “Zayn,” he says.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, settling Mia on his hip. “Where's sonny?”

“Down for a nap.”

He comes over and settles next to Louis, popping his feet up on the coffee table.

Louis laces his fingers together. “Mate, what's with this song?”

“Hmm?” Zayn murmurs, playing with Mia’s soft black curls. She looks between them.

“Your single, it’s not the one I'm featured on.”

“Last minute decision. The label liked this better, as an intro to the record.”

Louis takes a deep breath. “I can see why, considering how much ink it's gonna get with people wondering who you're talking about.”

“I'm not privy to those decisions, mate.”

“Your team promised mine that our collab would come out first.”

“I know, I wish it had.”

“It's about Liam, isn't it? This track.”

Zayn hesitates briefly. “Yeah, it is,” he says. “Mostly. Some of it’s artistic license.”

Louis stares at him, his eyebrows shooting up. “Seriously?”

Mia tries to stuff her little fist in her mouth. Zayn stops her.

“Yeah,” he says. “Seriously. Louis, I know you’re not stupid, I knew you'd know what it was about.”

“You didn't want to run this by me or anythin’?”

Zayn inhales. “Look --”

“I worked with you on this album! I’m featured on one of your songs, _Mia’s_ featured on one of your songs!”

“So?”

“So --” Louis struggles for words, his face flushed with frustration. He tries to stay calm, because Mia looks a little upset that he yelled. “This is about me! This is about -- about, ah, rumpy-pumpy that _I_ had, and _our_ marriage --”

Mia makes a whimpery sound, and he instantly drops his voice. Zayn is giving him one of those absolutely infuriating looks of his, so inscrutable, a beautiful sphynx.

“Louis,” he says, “you've gotta let me make art, mate. Sometimes it's gonna be about us.”

Louis grits his teeth and shakes his head. “This ain't fair to blindside me with, and you know it. And this is gonna make people figure out I was with Liam.”

“No it won't,” Zayn says dismissively. Mia wriggles out of his arms and goes to play on the carpet.

“Wanna bet?” Louis tosses his laptop at him. “Check TMZ.”

The headline he has open in Safari is, _IS ZAYN’S JEALOUS DISS TRACK ABOUT LIAM PAYNE??? WE THINK SO!_

“The fuck?” Zayn exclaims. “Who leaked?”

“I dunno, maybe one of the dozen industry people who knows?”

Zayn strokes his beard. “Alright, well, that'll blow over. It's twenty-eighteen, Louis, everybody knows who everybody's songs are about now, that doesn't ma --”

“I don't like my personal drama being everywhere!”

“Way, way too late for that one!”

Louis gets furiously to his feet. “This is really fucked,” he says. “That you did this without warning me, and that you don't even think it's a big deal.”

“Mate, I really didn't think it'd bother you.”

“You're punishing me,” Louis hisses. “You're still punishing me for what happened.”

"It's the truth. The lyrics about him. It's all the truth."

"So fucking what?"

"So it's the truth! Sorry if it's a bit ugly, but it is! I dunno what the four of you have against the truth!"

"Sometimes, when you're in the public eye, you massage the truth to protect the people you claim to care about, you fucking narcissist! Not everything's about you and your feelings!"

Zayn's eyes flash with serious anger, and he glances behind Louis. “Can you not, in front of the kid --”

“Yeah, I agree,” Louis snaps. He turns and scoops Mia up. She seems unmoved by their arguing, but points to her dismembered doll who's been left behind.

“Daddy,” she says expectantly.

Louis squats with her against his hip, picks up the doll, shoves its head back on and hands it to her. He starts to walk away.

“Louis,” Zayn says sharply.

Louis doesn't turn around.

 

*

 

They don't talk the rest of the day. Zayn takes a long call out on the patio, and he sits there in the shade for hours, chainsmoking. Louis stays inside, ignoring the texts he keeps getting about this fucking song, hanging out with the kids. They're old enough to sort of play together now; Mia likes showing Amir her toys, although she hasn't quite got the concept of actually sharing them down.

Amir doesn't have her feistiness, at least not yet. There's nothing cocksure about him. He's always surveying the room with his dark eyes, waiting, watching, burying his face in Louis’ chest at the first sign of trouble. He _hated_ his first birthday party; they flew up to England for it, and even though there was hardly anyone there who wasn't family, dozens of people fussing over him made him overtired and weepy less than an hour in.

Louis took him out in the crisp springtime air of the garden, sat him in his lap and read to him; Zayn joined them after a while, sitting behind him, his cheek resting against Louis’ back.

Zayn finds Louis when he's giving Amir his bath. Amir sits in the shallow water, playing with a rubber duck, his inky hair curling in the humidity.

Zayn stands next to the sink for a while, waiting. Louis ignores him, talking baby talk to the baby, toweling him dry and then laying him on the carpet so he can dress him in his onesie.

“You get Mia to bed?” he says without looking up as he does the last snap.

“Uh-huh,” Zayn says. He comes over and picks up Amir, kissing him on the head. Amir reaches up and touches his beard. He's fascinated by it.

Louis dries his hands on his jeans. “Alright. I'm going to bed, then.”

“It's eight o’clock.”

“Got an early day tomorrow.”

“Can we talk?” Zayn says quietly. “I'll get this one down and come join you.”

Louis looks at the two of them, gazing at him in the soft yellow light of the bathroom with their pretty dark eyes, looking sweet. His boys. He sighs. “Yeah.”

Louis is already in bed when he gets back, his teeth brushed, slumped exhausted against his maternity pillow. He hasn't needed it in a year, but it's so fucking comfy, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it.

He hears Zayn in the bathroom, fussing with products, then the water running. Louis keeps his eyes resolutely shut.

Zayn climbs into bed and begins spooning him.

“I'm still upset with you,” Louis informs him.

“I know.”

“Things are already weird in the band, and now you've like -- you could've just told me!”

“I was afraid you'd get angry.”

“I'm angrier ‘cos it got dumped on me!”

“Louis, I thought I had more time, they only told me yesterday we were swapping singles. An’ I just didn't know what to say.”

“People think I had an _affair_!”

“Louis --”

“This is my life,” Louis says miserably. “My real, actual life, not our exaggerated pop star bullshit --”

“It's my real life too, that's why I wrote about it!”

“With Taylor Swift!”

“What's wrong with that?”

“She's a fuckin’ drama queen! And it's a fuckin’ drama queen song!”

Zayn sits up, pulling away from him. “Fine,” he says stonily, “If you're gonna be like that.”

“Zayn, that's not what I meant, the song is good, it's just --” Louis sits up too, smoothing his hair back. “It's -- me and the kids aren't like, property that Liam tried to steal out from under you!”

“I don't think that way at all!”

“That's how it fuckin’ sounds, on this track! You sound like he keyed your fuckin’ car!”

“No, he fucked my pregnant boyfriend! Bit more intense!”

“It was my choice!” Louis screams. “I seduced him! I started it!”

“Congrats,” Zayn says, bitterly, “you've proved you're good at seducin’ fucked-up blokes in their vulnerable moments, good job --”

Louis throws a pillow at him, utterly enraged. “Know what, you can sleep on the couch tonight! Shithead!”

“When you told me,” he snaps, “that you had feelings for him, that whole time, that when you were in my house, havin’ my baby, sleeping with me, that you were thinking about _him_ , missing him, pining, and he was in _love_ with you! That he tried again to steal you off me when we had a two-month-old baby at home!”

“He wasn't trying to steal me, he was drunk, he did somethin’ stupid --”

“D’you know how much that disgusts me? D’you know how furious that makes me?”

“ _Still?”_

“You only told me the full story a few months ago!”

Louis presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, watching shapes spiral and undulate.

“Zayn,” he mutters, “we talked about this, it was a hard time for both of us. I didn't think we were going to make a go of it, so I'd started moving on. You were fairly fucking distant yourself, you were angry at me, you were working on your record, you’d just left your fiancée --”

“I’m allowed to be hurt about this!”

“I'm just saying, d’you have to dump our dirty laundry all over the fuckin’ place!”

“It’s art!”

“It’s shameful! I'm ashamed! That's what you wanted, right? Shamin’ me in public?”

“No,” Zayn says, looking grief-stricken. “Not you. Him, yeah.”

Louis shakes his head hard. “That's not how it works. I'm the omega. I'm the one who gets all this shit dumped on me fuckin’ ‘ead.”

“Louis, I'm sorry.” Zayn rubs at his beard, coming closer and sitting at his feet. Louis stares at him in the dark. “I didn't -- I didn't think people’d figure out it was him.”

“How much are you using him as a scapegoat,” Louis says, his jaw tight, “for bein’ afraid I don't love you? If you put him between us, you can always blame him when things are hard with us, you’ve always got something to vilify me with --”

Zayn scoffs hard and looks away.

“I know it's been tough lately,” he continues. “We've both got records coming out, we’re doing promo all the time, we've got two really young kids at home, our families ain't here to take ‘em off our hands, so we've got to leave ‘em with the nanny, and we both hate that…”

Zayn doesn't say anything.

“And what happened to that shit about me being a good judge of character, me looking out for you? I had a lot of input on this record, but I never had any idea about this track, or that you were working with _her_.”

“Her?”

“Taylor.”

“That's different, you don't like her for petty reasons.”

“So now you decide when me not liking someone is legitimate? ‘Cos that kind of goes against the me looking out for you thing.”

There's a scratching at the bedroom door. Zayn climbs off the bed and goes to let Bo in; he beelines for the bed and curls up in Louis’ lap.

Zayn looks down at his hands, picking at his nails. “I don't have anyplace to talk about it,” he mutters. “What Liam did. I've talked to my friends, but they don't really get it, none of ‘em have kids. My mum just tells me I should try to work past it and forgive both of you. I can't talk to you, ‘cos you get so defensive. And I don't talk to, y’know, _them_ anymore.”

“You could talk to Niall,” Louis offers. “He told me he’s wanted to mend fences with you.”

“Ahh,” Zayn mutters, and flaps his hand. “I can't talk to him about much of anythin’, anymore, much less go to him and trash you and Liam. I know whose team he's on, there.”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Louis says, scratching Bo behind the ears. “I think he's a bit unhappy about the state the band’s in.”

“Which I'm sure he blames on me.”

“Right, well."

Louis goes over to the bureau, digging through his underwear drawer for his cigarettes, then opens the balcony doors. There’s a gentle breeze going, the palm trees are waving, and the dark hills are glowing with lit-up houses. “Got a light, babe?”

Zayn comes over, pulling a lighter out of his pocket and flicking the flame on under Louis’ cigarette. Louis gazes at him as he draws in a drag.

“Look,” he says, blowing out smoke. It's carried away on the breeze. “I know you're not dumb, Zayn, you're actually proper fuckin’ smart, so I know you knew somebody’d blab that the song’s about Liam.”

Zayn shrugs. “Reckon I did,” he says. “It was me acting out. But I never wanted it to come back and hurt you, I swear. I dunno, maybe it was wishful thinking, I just thought it wouldn't.”

“I'm not angry with you,” Louis says quietly. “I'm just hurt.”

“Aye, well, so am I.”

Louis sighs and shakes his head. “I'm sorry.”

Zayn plucks the cigarette from his fingers and starts to smoke it, looking out into the distance, handsome in the blue dusk. “I let everyone egg me on a bit,” he admits. “And I didn't tell you ‘cos you'd get narky, and ruin the fun.”

“Oh, cheers.”

“I mean, you'd be in the right.” Zayn scuffs his shoe on the balcony. “I just hate puttin’ you in that position, where you have to.”

“Zayn, we’re married, sometimes we've got to ruin each other's fun.”

“I know.”

Zayn hands him the cig back, and they're quiet for a while.

“I do wanna know who fuckin’ leaked, though,” he says.

“Tell me when you find out,” Louis says, “so I can knock their head in.”

Zayn laughs.

 

NEW YORK, MARCH 21, 2018

“I told her,” Liam says quietly into the phone.

He's sitting in the bathtub. The baby’s asleep in her crib in their bedroom, and Ceci is puttering around down the hall. He doesn't want to be heard. “Soon as I got back from the airport.”

“And?” Harry says.

“I dunno. I thought we'd row about it, but she was really calm? It was weird. I apologized a lot. I told her Louis was just this idea I had, like… a fantasy, and she was the real thing, our life was what I actually wanted.”

“And?”

“She seemed to get that. She said she's really annoyed that everyone's going to be bothering her about this now, but she knows it's not my fault. It's just -- she's used to Broadway fans, not pop star fans. I mean, they're intense, but it's a different sort of intense.”

“Right, yeah.”

Liam leans his head miserably against the cool shower wall. “She was nice about it, though. She asked if I was alright.”

“Are you?”

“I mean, I'm upset with him, but this shit happens. And he’s got a right to be angry with me.”

“I just can't figure why _now_ ,” Harry muses, “when this went down two years ago.”

“I want to ask Louis, but I also, like, don't want to ask him.”

“Maybe he'll tell Niall and we can find out from him.”

“Right.”

“Did you tell her about the Brits?”

“Erm. I fudged it a bit. We'd been dating for a few weeks then, casually, but still --”

“Oh, Liam.”

“I dunno what came over me! I was like, possessed! I'm still afraid to be around him!”

“I'm sure you're fine, mate.”

“You don't get it.”

“I get that Louis has his --” Harry makes a huffy sound. “Like, _appeal_ , but you do have control over your actions.”

“No, I do, and I swear I don't feel that way about him anymore, I'm just, y'know, gun-shy.”

There's a knock at the bathroom door. Liam jumps.

“Honey,” Ceci calls.

“I'm just on the phone with Harry!”

“Okay, I'm just reminding you about dinner with my parents!”

“Right, reservations for seven, I'll be ready! Is the nanny here yet?”

“No, she's late, again.”

“Alright, I'll have a talk with her.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she says, and he hears her footsteps retreating.

“Where are you, anyway?” Harry says. He sounds amused.

“Hiding in the toilet.”

“God, Liam, she's gonna think _we're_ having an affair.”

“Noo!”

“How's your baby?”

He hugs his knees to his chest, smiling. “Perfect. Wonderful. Fantastic. Perfect.”

“I want to meet her,” Harry says wistfully.

“Next time you're in the city.”

“It’s a date.”

“Not a real one,” Liam jokes.

Harry does an imitation of a lecherous French laugh.

“Stop that, you bad man.”

“I'm not the one hiding from the missus in my toilet!”

“You ain't got any missus!”

“If I did, I wouldn't hide from her in the toilet! I'd say hey, love of my life, mum of my child, ‘scuse us a sec, I need to talk to my old friend Harold about all my awkward inter-band sexual dalliances --”

“I only had the one!”

“Oh, that's right,” Harry says, then muses: “Reckon we both did, huh? Zayn and Louis are ahead of each of us by one.”

“And Niall’s bringing up the rear with a goose egg, ‘cos he's always been the smartest.”

“But see, we could catch up with them instantly if we had sex,” Harry says, and he does the laugh again.

“Harry.”

“It’d be worth it for how much they'd both hate it. Their heads would explode.”

“I'm happily engaged with a baby.”

“Oh, I’m just having some fun.”

“I'm saying that for the benefit of the NSA. So they know I’m a good boy.”

“Alright, good boy, now go yell at your nanny. Ta.”

“Ta, you bad man.”

“Hon hon hon --”

“Stop!”

 

 

INGLEWOOD, AUGUST 28, 2018

They all show up to the VMAs, except Niall, who's in Australia on tour.

 _So sorry to be missing this lads_ , he texted them all the morning of.

 _Like hell youre sorry_ , Louis texted back.

 _Ha ha,_ Niall says. _Should be a hoot_

 _I might not be there either_ , Harry said. _It'll be a last minute call._

 _You're nominated for like six things!_ said Liam.

_They can always post the statue to me. either way good luck everyone_

_Yeah good luck boys_ , Louis said.

 _Good luck!!_ said Liam.

_Good luck even though I've been snubbed_

_Niall, you haven't made a music video in a year,_ Louis pointed out.

_Alright thats fair_

Harry does end up going, though. Louis spots him across the red carpet, wandering, all tall and beautiful and alone. He squints into the flashbulbs and gives him a wave. Harry winks and waves back. He's ignoring Zayn, as usual, and Zayn is happily returning the favor.

Liam is there with Ceci, ably steering her in the opposite direction any time Louis comes within fifty feet of them. He keeps pretending he's not doing this on purpose, pretending like he's caught in the flow of the crowd, waving at Louis and mouthing _sorry!_

Louis doesn't hold it against him, especially since every time Liam crosses their sightline Zayn grabs Louis’ arm like they're on the Titanic together. By the time they all file into The Forum to take their seats, Zayn's had seven of those little glasses of champagne and taken four smoke breaks.

They run into each other as they're taking their seats, of course.

“Payno,” Louis says, tapping him on the shoulder, resolved to not let this be weird.

Liam turns. “Tommo,” he says with a grin, and they bear hug, but separate quickly. The four of them shuffle out of the way to let some headset-wearing producers dash past.

“This is my fiancée, Ceci,” Liam says, proudly indicating her.

She gives Louis and Zayn a gleaming smile. She's gorgeous, very much Liam's type. Dark-eyed, olive-skinned, sweet face. Louis vaguely recognizes her from ads of Broadway marquees.

“Hey, great to finally meet you,” Louis says, and they shake hands.

“Likewise. I've heard a lot about you,” she tells him. “Like, a lot.”

Louis laughs. “This is my husband, Zayn.”

Zayn politely shakes her hand. “I'm gonna go find our seats,” he says in Louis’ ear, and disappears.

Liam stares after him, his smile fixed to his lips, but his eyes unfriendly and glittering.

“Hey, um.” Louis inhales. “I’m sorry about that whole… all the stupid coverage we've gotten. He is, too --” He jerks his thumb at Zayn's retreating back. “It's a lot of nonsense. Everyone assumes they know exactly what everyone's music's about, now, and we've all forgot what artistic license is, I guess. I feel shitty, 'cos I know you two are sort of private.”

“It's okay,” Ceci assures him. “I don't really travel in those circles, and I don't read entertainment stuff. I did get some weird mentions on Twitter, but I've been getting those ever since I started seeing Liam, anyway.”

“Yeah, our fans are a bit, y'know, eager.”

"Mmm," she says, with a sort of dead-eyed look. "Mhm."

“We appreciate it, Louis, but no hard feelings,” Liam says, smiling. “Hey, good luck tonight.”

“Yeah, you too, lad. How's the baby?”

“Great,” Ceci says. She snakes an arm around Liam’s waist. “Really wonderful.”

Liam nods to corroborate. He looks genuinely happy. “How's yours?”

“Good,” Louis says. “Mia’s getting into her difficult stage, but, can't complain much. Maybe in a year, when they've started teaming up against us.”

An usher shouts for everyone to start taking their seats, and they say genteel goodbyes and part ways.

 

*

 

To their great surprise, _sHarp_ by Zayn feat. Louis Tomlinson wins for Best Pop Video.

It is a pretty cool video, to be fair. They ended up using all their most ostentatious ideas -- they filmed it almost entirely in the LA River, two Dobermans on chains featured prominently, there's drone shots of them on roofs. And it helped that Louis spent a week glad handing and making charming calls to all the right people.

When Dua announces them, Louis lets out a joyful laugh of surprise. Zayn leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. Everyone around them is clapping, turning around to smile at them, craning their necks to be in the dolly shot.

“Moonman boys,” Zayn murmurs in his ear.

“Moonman boys,” Louis says back, beaming at him, and they get up to go accept it.

Zayn takes him by the hand as they head down the stairs. Louis prays the producers haven't cut to a shot of Liam's reaction. Or worse, Harry’s, considering they've just beat him. (Like it matters. He's already won twice.)

“I think they've changed it to Moon Person, actually,” Zayn mutters. “So say thanks for the Moon Person.”

“Why am I sayin’ anythin?”

“‘Cos you're gonna do the talking.”

“Why?”

“‘Cos you're good at it, and I hate it.”

“Zayn!” Louis protests as they head up the stairs into the bright lights.

Zayn turns and gives him a big kiss on the cheek. He reeks of champagne and cigarettes. “Good luck,” he says, and pushes him ahead on the stage. “Remember, Moon Person.”

 

*

 

Zayn goes missing a half-hour into the after-afterparty in Malibu. Louis finds him on a balcony, his back against the railing, clutching their VMA and a cigarette in one hand, and his phone to his ear with the other.

Louis shuts the sliding glass door behind him, quieting the roar of voices and music from inside. “You alright?” he says, worried.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and says bye to whoever he's on the phone with, then leans back, smoking. His eyes are dull and unfocused; he's had a lot to drink tonight. “Just checking in with the nanny.”

“Zayn, they're fine,” Louis murmurs, coming to him and sitting next to him. “You probably woke her up…”

“I did,” Zayn admits. “I just get this like -- I feel like something bad happened, and I can't get it out of my head ‘til I make sure it didn't.”

“That why you always call me at odd hours when you've flown somewhere? ‘Cos you always say you forgot the time difference.”

He laughs ruefully. “Like I'd actually forget.”

“I’d reckoned.”

Louis crawls into his lap, resting his forehead against Zayn’s neck. Zayn nuzzles him. They don't speak, for a while.

The door slides open again. It's James. “Lovebirds!” he shouts. “Waka Flocka’s here, he's fucked off his face and he's giving a blunt-rolling seminar, wake up.”

Zayn lifts his head and fixes James with a look. “Hey, mate,” he slurs. “Heard somethin’ funny about you the other day.”

“Yeah? What?”

“Did you leak it that my song was about Liam?”

James runs a hand through his bleached hair. “Uh…”

Louis sits up, staring him down.

“I might’ve gotten a call about that from the rags.”

“From who?”

“TMZ,” James says.

Louis, who's a little drunk himself, jumps swaying to his feet. “You fucking kidding me?”

“I thought that was common knowledge, bruv,” James says, talking directly to Zayn and ignoring Louis. “It's like, an open industry secret, like how your pal Harry’s an omega, ‘cept not really like that, ‘cos he sues everyone who says so --”

“An industry secret, not secret open to the entire world, you daft fucking douchebag!” Louis snaps. All the champagne’s gone to his head; he's flushed and dizzy with anger.

James sizes him up coolly. “I dunno if you were aware, but it’s well-known you were whoring around while you were pregnant, sorry --”

He's interrupted by Louis smacking him hard in the mouth.

James reels, clutching at his face and swearing. Behind them, Zayn scrambles to his feet. “Tommo, Tommo --”

A red-faced James lunges at Louis, and Zayn jumps between them, shoving him back forcefully. “James, don't you fuckin’ dare --”

“You hard, mate?” Louis screams at him, high on adrenaline and coming after him, trying to push Zayn aside. “You ‘ard? Or you just gonna stand there and get slapped like a bitch?”

“ _God_ , you're a cunt,” James screams back. Zayn loses his grip on him, and he tackles Louis onto the hard wood of the balcony. Burning pain radiates through Louis’ shoulder, but he's in absolutely ecstasy at getting to hit somebody, getting to vent all of his pent-up frustration and his aching desire to act like a man.

They grapple; Louis digs his nails into James’ cheek. James flails with an angry groan of pain, and Louis rolls him over and puts him in a headlock.

And then Zayn is tearing them apart, dragging him back, wrapping his arms around him. “Louis,” he hisses.

James lies there, staring nastily up at them, three vertical lines down his cheek already reddening. “Nice tart you got yourself, Zayn.”

“You know what, mate, go fuck yourself,” Zayn snaps. “This ain't any of your business.”

“No? Who'd you go crying to when you found out he’d been fucking around with Liam in the first place?”

“So what? So you get to call the dad of my kids a whore? Get inside, fuck off.”

James scrambles to his feet, pushing open the door, nursing his jaw. “You're lucky I don't press charges,” he spits at Louis. “Nasty little weasel --”

“Go ahead,” Louis screams at him. “Press charges, you fucking loser, you're nothin’ but a DJ with a fancy title --”

“Louis, Louis --” Zayn pulls him back again. “C’mon, you're drunk --”

The sliding door slams shut. James gives them the finger through the glass and storms away.

“We’re all drunk!” Louis shouts. “You're drunk, you’re always fuckin’ drunk anymore --”

“ _What_?”

Louis twists out of his arms, trembling with hot adrenaline and regret.

“Louis…” Zayn takes him by the jaw and pulls him close, kissing him on the forehead. “I've never thought you were a whore, you know that, right? I’ve never said or thought anythin’ like that about you, ever.”

“You talked shit on me in front of like, thirty million people,” Louis points out, closing his own hands over Zayn’s. “Makes it alright for everyone else to.”

“Only apologized for that about three hundred times!”

“Yeah, I'm just saying.”

“I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry. James is a piece o’ shit, he's dead to me. He's always had a big mouth, but that was just, like, beyond. Me an’ him are done.”

Louis nods, teeth chattering, and finally looks at him. Zayn’s expression is one of gentle worry.

“I’m fine, ‘s just the adrenaline,” he says.

“You hurt at all?”

“Me shoulder hurts,” he admits.

“Let’s go get some ice on it.”

Louis nods. “Don't forget our Moonman.”

Zayn turns and reaches down to fetch it. “Moon Person…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

*

 

The kids are in bed when they get home, and Ingrid is asleep in the guest room. They very quietly creep down the dark hall into the master, but they aren't quiet enough, because Mia toddles down the hall and appears in their doorway, rubbing her eyes.

“Ooh, love,” Louis says, “did we wake you?”

“‘M not asleep,” she chirps.

“Yeah, yeah. C’mere, gimme a kiss.”

She comes over, dressed in her polar bear pajamas. Louis picks her up and heaves her into his lap.

“I sleep here,” she says.

“No, lovey, you sleep in your bed.”

“Noo,” she says, pouting.

Zayn comes out of the bathroom, yawning. “Aww, let her sleep here, Louis.”

Mia digs her little fingers into Louis’ suit pocket.

“Sorry, baby, I don't have any candy for you today,” he says.

“Candy, please?”

“No candy. We won an award, though.”

He shows the Moon Person to her. Mia is interested for a brief moment, then when she realizes it's not a toy, she crawls off his lap and onto the bed, laying her little head on one of their many pillows.

“Goodnight!” she peeps.

“Sweets, I'll carry you back to your room, alright?”

“No thank you! I'm asleep!”

“Babe, give it up,” Zayn says. He comes over and drops a drowsy kiss on his cheek, smelling like soap and smoke.

Louis pats him on the cheek. “Alright.”

Zayn, clad in joggers, climbs over the bed and tucks Mia in. “Yasmeen,” he says to her, with gentle sternness, “no waking us up in the middle of the night, okay? ‘Less you really need to.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“Okay.”

Louis peels his suit off, pulling on a t-shirt and shorts, then crawls into bed next to them, his head buzzing pleasantly from the alcohol. His shoulder is still aching, but he took some of the Demerol he's still got leftover from when he had Amir, and it's slowly working on him.

He gazes over at them, his sweet-faced little daughter and her handsome father. Zayn meets his eyes and smiles gently at him.

 

LOS ANGELES, SEPTEMBER 5, 2018 

Louis doesn't see Zayn for much of the second half of the evening; it starts off nicely with a charity dinner, with them stuck for three hours in a ballroom in their monkey suits, talking to the very dryly funny couple they're sat next to. Zayn is in a good mood, or at least an alright one, and he keeps his arm resting on the back of Louis’ chair, which Louis likes.

But then they arrange an afterparty at a pub downtown and quickly separate, hanging out with their own groups of friends. Zayn gets very drunk very fast -- he keeps leaning on some big guy who worked on his last album with him.

Louis finds himself continually glancing over at him in the dark, feeling funny, the conversations around him going fuzzy in his ears. He doesn't mind them being independent from each other, but he gets the distinct impression Zayn doesn't want to be around him right now, and the thing is, Louis isn't itching to hang out with him, either.

When Zayn drinks, lately, it's never a normal, casual amount, and it has a stunningly bad effect on his mood. He's either brooding and distant or grabby and horny. He barely speaks to Louis, either way -- it makes him feel stupid, small, alone.

He just wants Zayn to look over at him, smile at him across the room like they usually do. He keeps waiting, but it doesn't happen.

 

*

 

Zayn finally does come to him around three in the morning, absolutely wasted. “Can we go up to the roof?” he slurs in Louis’ ear, his breath hot.

Louis, who's in the middle of talking to someone and was getting ready to go home, turns to him sort of nonplussed. “Roof?”

“Yeah… can…” His eyes are unfocused. “I wanna talk to you.”

“‘Scuse us,” Louis says to Peyton, who nods and steps aside to let them head up the stairs.

Louis walks behind Zayn, making sure he doesn't fall, one hand at the small of his back. The quiet roar of conversations fades as they move up the stairs, and then they reach the top and Zayn shoulders the door to the roof open. It makes a growling squeak, and then fresh, muggy air is hitting Louis in the face.

Zayn dry heaves, and Louis slips an arm firmly around him and guides him over to the railing. His own stomach lurches when Zayn throws up. It splatters onto the sidewalk below.

“You should have waited ‘til Scott was leaving,” Louis murmurs, reaching out to stroke his dark hair off his forehead, squinting at him. “I hate that guy.”

Zayn is trembling. “D’you have a smoke?”

“Yeah.”

They sit, resting their backs against the railing.

Zayn swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, then spits. Louis palms a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket and pushes it between his lips for him. Zayn lets out a weak chuckle and digs his lighter out.

Louis pulls his knees to his chest and looks out over Los Angeles, which looks eerie under the smear of a yellowy smog haze. It's so smoggy the sky hasn't even gone fully dark, like when it snows.

Zayn exhales smoke. “I need t’ tell you something…”

Louis’ heart skips a beat. “Yeah?”

He smokes some more. “Think I’m tourin’ next year.”

Suddenly, Louis is adrift in a vortex of dizzying confusion. “What?”

“Yeah, I just…” He leaves the cigarette to dangle from his lip and looks down at his lighter, flicking it again and again. “Been talking about it a lot with my team. Think it's just gonna have to happen.”

“Babe…”

“Sales for the second one haven't been what they should be, we both know that.”

“They've been bloody good!”

“I should be getting bigger. Not smaller.”

“You should have waited longer before releasing a second one, I told you that. I said that. You were fine just doing singles and features.”

“They're gonna forget about me,” he slurs. “Everyone's gonna forget about me.”

“No!”

“I want to.” Zayn fixes him with a wobbly, drunk stare. “I wanna tour.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Maybe I could make it be chill. And not stupid. Maybe it’d be fine.”

“Love,” Louis says, very gently, and smoothes his hair back off his forehead. “Why haven't we talked about this ‘til now? I'm your husband.”

“You'd’ve talked me out of it…”

“Maybe there's a good reason for that.”

“I'm doing it,” Zayn snaps, pulling away from his touch.

“You don't _have_ to.”

“Maybe I do!” He finishes his cigarette and stubs it out violently on the concrete.

“You're gonna just leave me alone for months on end? Leave me with the kids?”

“I have to have a career, Louis! I left your fuckin’ band so I could do this! ‘Cos I want this!”

“Why’s it _my_ fuckin’ band? And, uh, why don't I have to have a career, huh?”

Zayn shakes his head. “You never even wanted it,” he says thickly. “You didn't want to go solo...”

“No, you're right, I didn’t,” he says tartly, “but the band fucking vanished out from under me, and I’d like my kids to be able to see me as something other than just the bloke that mashes up their bananas for their peanut butter sandwiches. I’d like everyone to see me as more than that. I don't want to just disappear.”

Zayn doesn't say anything; he's blinking like he's trying to sober up his vision.

“I thought you said part of why you left is ‘cos you wanted a more normal work-life balance. No long tours and not being able to ever do normal shit, or just chill out and have things be sane.” Louis tries to swallow back his insecurity and anger, but it pours out like hot sick. “Is that true or is it a lie you told me to cover for the fact that you left ‘cos you thought you were better than us? And ‘cos you were sick of being in your ex-boyfriend’s shadow?”

“Stop. Jus’ stop it. I didn't bring you up here t’… like… religitate ancient bullshit…”

“Can we just _talk_ about this, as a couple? The effect a tour would have on us?”

Zayn puts his head between his knees. “No, I wanna talk to my business partner,” he groans drunkenly. “I wanna talk to business Louis…”

“Too bad, you've got husband Louis.”

“Doesn't matter if I leave the kids… what d’they care… you're better with ‘em, anyway, they like you better…”

“That's not _true_!” he cries. “And what about how leaving would affect you? You're already so anxious over them when you're away --”

Zayn shrugs resignedly. “I'm anxious no matter what I do,” he says in a flat voice. “Or where I am… Might as well tour…”

“That's -- we need to work on that, then! You need help!”

“Why’re you being so mean to me?”

“I’m not, I’m scared! I'm worried about you!”

Zayn moves closer and sort of collapses on him, laying his head on Louis’ lap. Louis strokes his soft hair.

“I don't think I'm better than you,” he says quietly, with the slow, lilting cadence of a drunk person.

“Did, um.” Louis inhales. “When you left… did you ever think about taking me with you? Or at least staying together?”

“Yeah… but I knew you wouldn't’nt’ve -- wouldn’t’ve been interested…”

“But you never asked…”

“I know you, bro… I knew how mad you were gonna be at me for leavin’... I didn't want to face it. I just wanted to make a clean break.”

“But you say you loved me,” Louis says, pained. “And you left me anyway.”

“I had to get out, and I knew you weren't gonna forgive me,” Zayn slurs. “You only did ‘cos I put a baby in you.”

“No, that's not why.”

“Yeah, it is...”

“No. I missed you. I was a wreck after you left, I was lashing out at everyone. I hated you, but I missed you like crazy.”

Zayn’s breathing has slowed a bit, like he's drifting off. Finally, he says, in a strained voice, “You didn't love me… Pez didn't love me… rest of the band turned against me the second I left… what was I leaving, exactly?”

“Liam didn't turn against you.”

Zayn laughs a bitter, nasty little laugh. “You fuckin’ kidding me? Is that a fucking joke? No, he just wasted -- waited ‘til the secon’ I was gone and started fucking you, what a _pal_ \--”

“Alright, forget Liam, but for everyone else -- you drove us all away from you! You made us feel totally unwanted!”

“If ‘s’possible for me to drive you away, maybe you can't -- maybe you didn't love me enough in the first place, like…”

“How could you want to drive me away?” Louis says, his chest aching. “I -- why _me_? The one person who, like -- I mean, was it just sex, to you? Were we just screwing?”

Zayn dry heaves again, then says hoarsely, “Was never just sex to me. _You_ were the one who thought it was just sex. I loved you, you know that. You were my best friend.”

“You didn't treat me like it!”

Zayn rolls over onto his back, so he can make glazed, glassy eye contact with him. “I couldn't stand ‘ow angry you were at me,” he murmurs. “Felt like… just pure shit. An’ if I knew about Mia, I never would’ve -- the tweet --”

Louis strokes his hair some more. “I know,” he says.

Zayn closes his eyes and swallows. “Wish everything would stop…”

“Like what?”

“Everything… time… and the spinning...”

“You're wasted, love.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. Can I take you home?”

Zayn nods.

“I love you,” Louis says hoarsely. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

“Please don't go away, alright?”

He doesn't know if he's talking about the tour, or in general, but it doesn't matter, because his voice comes out in a pathetic whisper, and Zayn is too busy drunkenly trying to get to his feet to hear him.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, DECEMBER 21, 2018

“Mia, put that down,” Louis says, without looking up.

Mia pauses, seems to consider it, then throws the car phone on the floor.

“Mia!”

“Yasmeen,” Zayn mutters, rubbing his temples and lifting his champagne flute to his mouth, “don't do that…”

“I don't wanna go!” she shouts, climbing back up onto the cream-colored seats of the town car.

“Lovey, it’s Christmas!” Louis shifts on the seat, pushing Amir’s little hand away as it reaches up to tug on his hair. “We go to England every Christmas!”

“I don't wanna!”

“I’m not arguing with you!”

“Can we just get ‘em in their car seats?” Zayn says, draining the rest of his glass.

“We're not leaving for…” Louis checks his watch. “Another fifteen minutes at least.”

“I’ve got a headache.”

“Is that ‘cos you've been drinking all morning?”

“Louis, if you open champagne, you've got to drink it.”

Syena had brought a bottle over around nine in honor of Zayn cracking the Billboard top ten again. Louis told him to save it for next week, for New Year’s, but he kept saying, “It's a celebration! It's the holidays!"

“Uh-huh,” Louis says.

Amir babbles at him, tugging at his shirt collar.

“Maybe _you_ can go in your car seat,” Louis says gently to him, and Amir smiles at him, conned by his tone.

“I'll do it,” Zayn says, sitting up.

“No, I've got it, champagne boy,” Louis says under his breath, picking Amir’s car seat off the floor and crossing to the other side of the seats. Mia kicks her little feet, watching him.

“What're you going on about?”

“Nothing,” Louis says, threading the belt through the base of the seat.

“Daddy said chan-pagne boy,” Mia says.

“Mia,” Louis says, “don't be a pot-stirrer.”

“What's a pot-stirrer?”

“It's what you're being when you tattle on your dad.” He snaps Amir into the seat.

“Your dad doesn't like anyone else to have fun when he isn't, Yasmeen,” Zayn slurs.

“That's not fu -- that's not true, and you know it.”

“Have some champagne, then. Help me finish the bottle.”

“I don't want any!” Louis heaves the other car seat up. Mia watches him curiously as he snaps the headrest in.

When he's got it all set up, he drops her into it and does the straps. “There,” he says, “all safe.”

“I'm bored,” Mia announces.

He kisses her hard on the forehead. “Too bad. I'll be right back.”

Louis pops out of the car, slipping on their gravel driveway in his Vans, then tugs open the driver’s side door.

Daniel peers at him over the newspaper.

“Can we hit the road early?” he says.

“The jet’s not wheels up ‘til one,” Daniel says. “But if you'd rather wait around in the plane than here.”

“Zayn's just being a massive pain in my arse.”

“I have bad news,” Daniel says. “If that's the case, he's gonna be just as big a pain on the plane, and in England.”

“Yeah, but maybe on the plane he’ll go to sleep. Same with the kids.”

“Alright, let’s hit the road, then.”

 

BEVERLY HILLS, APRIL 13, 2019

The phone rings at four in the morning. Louis wakes up alone in bed, disoriented, tangled in sweaty sheets. His fever still hasn't broken yet.

He sits up, not sure why he woke, and then he realizes his phone is buzzing in the bed next to him.

He grabs it and rolls over. “Hullo?” he says thickly.

“Hey Louis, it’s Syena. Zayn’s cutting the tour short.”

“What?” He blinks in the dark, tossing the comforter off of him.

“Yeah, he didn't end up going on last night. He woke up this morning and said he wants to cancel the last five dates.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“No. He didn't want to wake you, he's on a plane home from Miami right now. I didn't think you’d appreciate the surprise, so I'm just trying to help him avoid a fight.”

“Christ,” Louis mutters.

“Look, he doesn't like touring. We know this. I thought this was a bad idea to begin with.”

“It's not just the tour. He’s been acting so off, even before it started.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean, that's what I'm talking about. I didn't think he should be away from his family right now, anyway.”

“He's gonna come home in a shit mood.”

“Well, we can't call his plane back.”

“No, no, I know.” He rubs at his eyes. “I'm just thinking out loud.”

“I hear you. Goodnight, Louis.”

“Night.”

 

*

 

Louis can't get back to sleep after that. He gets up after a while, puts on some tea, takes a load of Sudafed and stands in the kids’ doorway in his robe watching them sleep.

Amir is snoozing away dead to the world, but Mia stirs awake, spots him and climbs down out of her crib, wanting water. He takes her downstairs and administers this, as well as more Infant Motrin.

“Want to go back to bed?” he says, as she tucks her berry-red tongue back in her mouth. She shakes her head.

So they hang out on the couch watching _The Three Stooges_. She falls asleep in the crook of his arm; Louis sits there, sniffling, trying to ignore that his bicep is pinned under her heavy little head.

Zayn gets in at nine. Louis hears the car come to a stop outside, and then the front door being heaved open, and the sound of Zayn and Sean dragging his luggage in.

Mia stirs. “Daddy?” she says, blinking at Louis and sniffling.

“Yeah,” Louis says, running his tongue along his teeth. “Zayn's back, if you wanna go say hi.”

She darts off the couch like a greyhound and bolts down the hall. Louis shuffles after her, surreptitiously blowing his nose into the pocket of his bathrobe.

“Yas!” Zayn shouts. As Louis rounds the corner, he sees Zayn hoist her into the air, kissing her on the cheeks and forehead.

“Where's sonny?” he says to Louis. Mia turns to look at him, hanging off Zayn like a monkey.

Louis clears his throat, leaning exhaustedly on the wall behind him. “Upstairs, asleep. ‘E’s sick. We're all sick.”

“Sorry, mate.”

“It happens.”

“You gonna ask why I'm home?”

“Nah, Syena called me.”

Zayn nods. “Right.”

“We can talk later,” Louis says.

He softens, looking at Zayn. He's drawn-looking,  and a bit thinner than he was when Louis last saw him three weeks ago. The circles under his eyes are darkly purple.

 

*

 

Zayn comes to him around noon, waking him up from a fevered nap.

“Ughhh,” Louis groans, sitting and propping himself up against the pillows. He squints against the daylight pouring into the bedroom. When he's sick he always wishes he was back in England on a shitty day, rain pissing down the gutters.

“You stink, mate,” Zayn says, sitting next to him and squeezing his thigh.

“Yeah, need to tell Missy to change the bed over, been sweating in it all week.”

“The kids okay?”

Louis nods. “Brought ‘em both by Emory yesterday, he says they're fine.” He fixes Zayn with a look. “Wanna explain to me why you’re home?”

“Thought you'd be happy to see me.”

“I don't love you cancelling dates.”

Zayn sighs, looking down, his jaw tightening. “Right.”

“People save up all year to get tickets, they look forward to it for months.”

“Two legs of a tour got cancelled for you,” Zayn points out.

“Only ‘cos I was sick, I could've lost our baby or died of a seizure! And I was gutted over it! I stuck it out my whole first trimester and half the second!”

“Yeah, well, I'm sick too,” Zayn snaps.

“Sick how?” Louis exclaims. “I mean, Christ, Zayn, d’you know how much I miss performing? And I've barely done it ‘cos someone's got to be home with the kids, and I don't want to fuck up your life! I want you to have this! But you throw away the opportunity!”

“Louis…”

“And you just say all this vague shit to me about how you're doing badly but you won't tell me what's wrong, you just snap at me when I ask and drink all the time, I've been worried sick about you for at least a year now --”

“Louis,” Zayn barks. “Hush a minute. Can I get my thoughts together?”

Louis goes quiet, pulling his knees to his chest.

“I didn't even want to tour. Everyone pushed me to tour. I’ve never enjoyed it. I wish you hadn't even let me go.”

“I thought you wanted to. You said you did. I thought you wanted to prove you could.”

“Please --” Zayn looks up, past Louis, at the wall. “I went partly ‘cos when I'm here, home, I just feel, fuckin’... suffocated…”

Louis can't hide the hurt on his face.

“It's not your fault,” he immediately adds. “It's me anxiety, it's the kids, it's you, I'm always jumping out of my skin, I feel like I do everythin’ wrong --”

“You _don't_ \--”

Zayn scrubs his hand over his face and gets up. “I gotta go,” he says. “I need some fresh air. I'm gonna be outside.”

“Zayn…”

“Ingrid’s got the kids taken care of.”

“No, I know, but…”

Zayn digs his cigarettes out of his pocket. “Get some sleep, babe,” he says, and saunters away. Louis stares after him, his head buzzing with exhaustion and fever.

 

*

 

They don't make it to bedtime without a blowup.

Louis is in a terrible mood, sick and exhausted, and Zayn's somehow in an even worse mood. They orbit around each other, managing to avoid being in the same room until Louis needs help putting the kids to bed and comes downstairs to find Zayn in the dark kitchen, lit eerily by the white bulb over the sink, pouring vodka into a frosty glass.

Fear and anger flare in Louis’ chest. “Are you seriously drinking right now?”

Zayn turns, looking wearied by his voice and presence in a way that slices Louis to the bone. He drains half the glass in one go.

“Louis,” he says thickly. He's already drunk. “I had a really shit week. Just leave it.”

Louis stares at him, flushed with fever, trembling. “Are you a fuckin’ alcoholic?”

Zayn lets out a scoffing laugh.

“I'm serious. Are you?”

“Louis --”

“Could you stop drinking? Are you capable of it?”

“‘Course I could! Jesus fuckin’ --”

“I don't think you could!”

Zayn drops his glass into the sink. It shatters. Louis jumps at the sound.

“There,” Zayn says. “Can't drink that now, can I?”

“Your ER doctor told me she thought you were one,” Louis says, his voice growing in force. “When you broke your wrist. She said drunks fall like that. She said you had a bunch of healed little fractures from getting wasted and falling down.”

“When?”

“Your wrist! Three years ago!”

“I'm not a drunk, Louis.” Zayn stands there, picking glass out of the sink with his bare hands.

“Don't,” Louis says, going to him. Zayn nudges him away protectively.

“I'll get it,” he says, his voice gentler.

“You'll cut yourself.”

“You'll cut _your_ self. Look, you're sick. Go t’ bed. We'll talk tomorrow.”

“Zayn, I don't like you like this. I don't like you when you drink this much.”

“I said go to bed!”

He cuts himself right as he says it. Deep into one of his fingers. Louis inhales, and Zayn holds his hand up into the eerie white light, blood glistening.

“I'll get a plaster.”

Zayn stops him. “‘S’fine. I'll just wrap it in something.”

“Zayn --”

He takes Louis’ face in his bloody hands and kisses him on the forehead. “I'm fine.”

“You're not,” Louis says, low in his throat. He can smell the iron. “You're scaring the shit out of me.”

The pain on Zayn's face is immense, towering, incomprehensible. “You're bein’ so melodramatic,” he says, his voice raspy.

“Babe,” Louis cries, “what the fuck is happening, where'd you go --”

Zayn reaches for one of their fancy, monogrammed dish towels, wrapping his bloody hand in it. He starts to walk away.

Louis chases after him. “I want to talk to you! You're not just going to bed! Zayn!”

Zayn rounds on him. “Can you ever leave well enough alone?” he shouts.

“Can you ever be honest with me?” Louis screams back at him.

Zayn freezes, for a second, then starts walking away, toward the front door. Louis chases after him in his bathrobe, t-shirt and boxers, his face blood-stained, feeling ridiculous, feeling delirious.

“Where the fuck are you going,” he yells after him.

Bo’s collar jingles on the stairs, and then he’s running down to them, stopping at Louis’ side.

“I'll be at David’s if you need me,” Zayn snaps. “I can't sit here and listen to this shit.”

He drunkenly staggers putting his jacket on, and kicks the umbrella stand in anger at this.

Louis stares at him in disbelief. Moonlight is flooding in the transom, reflecting down from the chandelier, casting ghostly prisms and triangles over both of them. “You're leaving?”

“For one night!”

“You're not fucking serious.”

“I’m dead fuckin’ serious!” Zayn hollers, zipping up his jacket. “I'm calling a car! Or I'll walk! Goodnight!”

“ZAYN!”

Bo lets out a single bark.

But Zayn is off, down the drive and out the gate. Louis stares at his retreating back, his heart aching, his head churning. As soon as Zayn disappears from view, he slams the door in a fury. The violent motion of this torques his back, and he slumps to the floor in excruciating pain. He just lies there on the Kilim rug for a while, stewing in the indignity and misery of it all, swearing. The dog lies down next to him, nuzzling at him, licking his cheek.

Ingrid comes to get him after a few minutes. “Oh, Mr. Tomlinson,” she says, “what happened?”

“Threw out my back.”

She helps him up as he groans and winces. “Let’s get you something for that, okay? I’ve put the kids to bed, don't worry about that.”

He stumbles, nauseated by the pain. “Did they hear any of it?”

“I don't think so, no.”

He puts an arm around her, and they limp up the stairs.

“I'll stay the night,” she says, “if you're alright with that, so I can get up with them tomorrow. You need your sleep.”

“Thanks,” he says softly.

“Oh, it's what you pay me for.”

Louis nods, a lump growing in his throat. Tears start trickling down his cheeks.

“It'll all be alright,” she whispers.

“I know,” he says hoarsely.

She deposits him into the big lonely master bed, baby monitor at his side like always, then goes into the bathroom and unearths a few Percocets that she comes and drops into his palm. Bo leaps up onto the bed and curls up beside him.

“Are you going to sleep?” Ingrid whispers.

“Nah,” Louis says. “Not yet.”

“Alright. I'll leave the light on.”

She leaves him. He wipes his tears away with his thumb.

 

*

 

The next morning he wakes up to Oli whispering.

“Not yet… not yet… Mims, it’s a surprise, hang on…”

Louis keeps his eyes dutifully shut, trying not to smile. He feels a bit of weight land at the end of the bed, then someone is crawling toward him, and poking their little fingers into his chest.

Louis opens his eyes, smiling at Mia.

“Daddy,” Mia exclaims. “Uncle Oli brang breakfast. ‘Cos you broke your backs.”

“Brought, baby, he brought breakfast.”

“And balloons!”

Louis glances behind her at Oli, who has In-N-Out bags and a giant _Get Well Soon_ balloon surrounded by smaller ones, and is carrying a sleepy Amir.

“I thought you were in England!” he says, touched.

“I was! Came back early. Just in time, apparently. I got your texts when I landed.”

Louis sighs. “Yeah, I’ll tell you about that later.”

“Ingrid filled me in a bit.” Oli deposits Amir on the bed, and he crawls eagerly toward Louis and collapses in the crook of his arm.

“Well, thanks so much, mate, for all this, you’re aces…”

“I also got you a little something something,” Oli says, and tosses a bottle of Oxycodone at him.

“Cheers,” Louis says. “I might take one of these right now, actually.” His back is throbbing again, although it’s not as bad as last night.

Oli comes over and hands him a Coke, then perches on the edge of the bed. Louis pops the top off the Oxy, and Amir tries to grab the bottle out of his hand.

“No, no,” he says. “Not for kids.”

“Daddy,” Amir says petulantly.

Louis gazes at him. He looks so much like Zayn when he’s just woken up. He looks like both of them, when they were that age, but when his dark eyes are sleepy they’re unmistakably Zayn’s. He feels heartsick.

This reverie is interrupted by Mia popping one of the balloons.

They all look at her, and she starts to whine.

“Shh, shh, grab the string and pull them over, lovey.”

Mia complies. He separates the Mylar one from the rest and hands it to her. “This one’s a bit tougher, it won't pop as easy.”

She hugs it to her, like she's trying to disprove this.

“It’s nice they can still be entertained by shit like that,” Oli says.

“I know, I'm sort of jealous.”

Amir pulls at Louis’ collar. “Daddy,” he says.

Louis looks at his watch. “Is it breakfast already? God.”

“Give ‘em some of the fries,” Oli suggests.

“Perfect. Animal style?”

“Yeah. So it’s like, healthy, even. ‘Cos the onions.”

“I like the way you think, mate.”

 

*

 

Louis parks the kids in front of a movie so he can have a few minutes to walk Oli through what happened, but he ends up stalling, asking him question after question about how he's been and what's he's been up to, until he finally puts a hand up.

“You're babbling,” he says with a smile.

Louis sighs. "I know."

“Tell me what happened with Zayn?"

So Louis haltingly tells him everything as they stand there in the hallway, keeping an eye on the kids as they sit perched on the sofa.

Oli looks concerned. “And he hasn't come back yet?”

“He's probably still sleeping it off,” Louis mutters. “I was gonna text David if I don't hear from him soon.”

“David?”

“His friend, that A&R director. He ran off to his place.”

“This sounds serious.”

“I know, mate.” He looks away, his jaw tight. “I've barely seen him the last few months, anyway, ‘cos of this fuckin’ tour, just been taking care of the kids meself, and that's fine, but like --” He runs his hands through his hair. “I dunno how to help him, anymore. And I'm starting to think it's just me. He just wants away from me and the kids, and he can't admit it to himself, but it's too much for him. I get it. It's too much for me, some days.” He lets out a choked laugh. “Like, I'm twenty-seven. This wasn't what I thought my life was gonna be, at twenty-seven.”

Oli squeezes his shoulder. “You do great with them.”

Louis sighs and shakes his head. “Sometimes I think they're gonna turn out all weird and fucked up.”

“Right, well, who doesn't?”

He laughs. “At least they've got each other.”

“Yeah! ‘Less they grow up and hate each other.”

“Oh, no,” Louis says. “If I have Gallaghers for children, I’ll do myself in.”

 

*

 

Zayn shows up around eleven. The dog starts barking in the foyer like an alarm, and when Louis goes to see what's up, Zayn is coming in the front door.

“Alright, alright!” he shouts at Bo. “I'm not a fuckin’ burglar!”

Bo, unperturbed, continues to bark at him.

“Knock it off,” Louis tells him, snapping his fingers. “Leave it.”

Bo glances at him, then reluctantly slinks off.

“Don't think he much liked you yelling at me last night,” he adds coolly.

Zayn peels his jacket off and crosses to the coat closet. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Can we not? I've got a headache.”

“I think that's your fault.”

Zayn comes back over to him, looking even worse than he did last night. “I'm not gonna let you chase me right back out of here,” he says, kissing Louis. “So you can quit it with the comments.”

“Chase you back out of here?” Louis snaps, twisting away. “Have you lost your fucking mind? You're supposed to be here, Zayn! It ain't optional! I'm your husband, and these are your two toddlers, and if you don't like it, there's the door, messenger me our divorce papers!”

Zayn flinches. “Look,” he says, “sorry I walked out. I couldn't ‘andle you coming after me like that after the week I had.”

“What happened?”

“Friday’s show was the last straw. I couldn't do it anymore.”

Louis doesn't understand this part of Zayn, his abrupt mercuriality, his ability to convince himself of the rightness of his decisions and never look back. He didn't use to be that way. In the first year of the band, they would lie awake talking to each other, jittery with nerves and marveling at how easy it would have been for none of this to have ever happened. “I wasn't even sure about trying out,” Zayn would say, his voice soft, his face still round with boyhood. “It all just sort of happened, like. Feels like a dream.”

Now Zayn is a bear trap, snapping shut. _I'm leaving the band. I'm leaving Perrie. I want to marry you. Liam’s dead to me._ Maybe some things are just too painful to reconsider, but that doesn't stop Louis from turning over every decision he's made in his head, questioning himself constantly. He can't figure out when exactly Zayn stopped being the same way, when he left Louis behind.

“What was the last straw?” he says.

Zayn grows evasive, his eyes darting around. “I wanna say hi to the kids,” he says, and walks away.

Louis follows after him, wanting to scream from frustration. “Zayn,” he says, his voice cracking in his sore throat.

“Stop pushing me,” he says, tersely.

“Stop walking away from me!”

Zayn continues to walk away from him. Louis turns, infuriated, and yanks open the sliding glass door to the backyard.

He goes and lies spread-eagle in the grass, staring at the sky, chain-smoking and trying not to think.

 

*

 

Zayn finally comes out and joins him. Louis hands him a cigarette, and Zayn lights it off his, then lies next to him in the grass.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I’m really fucking sorry. I was a prick last night.”

He's sincere. He's always sincere when he's apologizing, and sweet, and boyish, and charming. Louis softens.

“Alright,” he mutters.

Zayn studies him. “What're you thinking?”

Louis smokes for a while.

“I just want to know what's going on with you,” he says. “That's all I ever want to know. And I'm really, really fuckin’ worried about you.”

“Don't be,” Zayn says, and exhales a ring of smoke.

Louis tightens his jaw. His old friend the lump in the throat is back.

Zayn reaches out and laces their left hands together. Louis stares at his wedding band.

His ring had come off that morning in the shower. It tends to slip around a lot, because Zayn had measured his finger for it when he was pregnant and puffy. He's been stressed out and on the thin end again, lately, and it keeps falling right off -- into the sink, into the tub when he's giving the kids a bath. It doesn't help that he spends so much time twisting it and playing with it.

This morning he considered not putting it back on, just leaving it on his dresser until he can get it resized, or putting it on a chain around his neck. But he can't bear to not wear it. It feels like a bad omen, like he's inviting the end of his marriage. Even when he's been on stage, he’s kept it on, or slipped it in his pocket. But he hasn't been on stage much, anyway.

“I’ve been thinking I need a bit of time away,” Zayn says.

Louis’ head churns. “Huh?”

“Like a treatment center.”

He hesitates. “For the drinking?”

“Just to take a bit of a break from everything,” he murmurs. “Including drinking, I reckon.”

Louis is silent. That's going to be more time spent being a single dad -- more of those interminably long afternoons, when the kids have already exhausted him by four and his loneliness is like cotton in his chest. But it's a step in the right direction. Maybe it'll shake Zayn out of his denial, or at least shake his team out of theirs. Lately they're always chirping to Louis on the phone, talking to him like he's a melodramatic idiot instead of the person who knows Zayn best, telling him, “He's fine, Louis! We wouldn't push him if we didn't know he was fine! He just likes to drag his feet a little!”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I think that's a good idea. Like, soon?”

“Was gonna check in this week,” Zayn says.

“Can you be home with the kids tomorrow? I’ve got a label meeting.”

“Yeah. Talking album two?”

“Right,” Louis says. “Might postpone it, though, I don't want to add to the chaos.”

He's been faltering, anyway; the first one didn't sell as well as he liked, although it was met with plenty of enthusiasm. But everything he does lately feels like he's moving through water. Music is no exception.

“Tommo...”

“The kids really missed you, these past few months. I know you know that, just…”

Zayn sits up, smoking, a wave of dark hair falling across his forehead. “And now I'm back.”

“And you're leaving again,” Louis says softly. “Look, it's not -- I don't blame you or anythin’. I don't mind putting it off. It's just not the right time. Mia’s starting school in the fall, and all that.”

“Thanks,” Zayn mutters. “For being -- y’know. Being the mum, basically. I worry about them, like, constantly, but it'd be worse if they didn't have you. You've done great with them.”

“So’ve you, mate.”

“Yeah, but I've always sort of followed your lead.”

“It's alright. I made them, it sort of gives me an unfair head start.”

They smile tentatively at each other.

“Maybe,” Zayn says, “when I'm doing better, we could, like…”

“What?”

Zayn runs his fingers along Louis’ flat stomach. “Try for another?”

He barks out a laugh. “You've absolutely lost the plot.”

His expression instantly sours. “Thanks.”

“Come on, you can't be serious!”

“I just --” Zayn shrugs and looks away, biting at his bottom lip. “It was nice when you were pregnant, wasn't it? The second time, I mean. I just remember that bein’ nice.”

Melancholy rushes over Louis. He takes Zayn’s hand again, squeezing it. “Aye, it was nice.”

“You don't want another baby?” Zayn says, cajolingly. “Cute little baby with teeny fingers and toes…”

“Having another baby’s not gonna send us back in time, love. It’d make everything even harder. It'd make you more overwhelmed.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking defeated.

“C’mere,” Louis says, spreading his arms.

Zayn lies down with him, hand resting on his chest, right over his heart.

 

*

 

Louis washes his face for a long time that night, staring at himself, rubbing the hot washcloth over his skin until he's ruddy-cheeked.

Zayn’s unpacked, and moved his things back into the bathroom. Brow gel, La Mer, hair product, his colognes.

He opens the door, and the light from the bathroom pours out across the floor and the bed, illuminating Zayn, who's perched against the pillows smoking a joint.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, shutting the light off and coming over to him, crawling over the covers. “Share?”

Zayn beckons him, then shotguns a lungful of acrid smoke into his mouth. Louis inhales, coughing, and they have a long, deep kiss.

They haven't had sex since February, when Zayn came home briefly. Louis was relieved to find that Zayn was as pent-up as he was. They both came almost immediately, and Zayn worked his hips for a while after, nuzzling him.

So he’s probably not cheating. Louis had worried even more about that, with him touring. They've sexted a lot the last few months, had phone sex, all of that long-distance stuff they're both well practiced at. Louis had to put a lock on his phone so the kids wouldn't pick it up to play games and find all the dick pics their parents have been sending each other. (And one Kim Kardashian-style arse selfie from Louis, which he immediately regretted, because if someone ever hacks him he's never going to live that down.)

Louis plucks the joint from his fingers and takes a drag. They pass it back and forth for a minute or two until it's dead, and then Louis settles against the bed and spreads his legs. Zayn grins.

In the pitch dark, they fumble a bit, but they're old hats at this by now, and soon Zayn is sliding into him.

It's been so long, tingles shoot through his body. He gasps, arching his back -- Zayn wraps an arm snug around his waist, and then they’re just fucking, letting out soft moans and groans, murmuring in grateful ecstasy.

“I fuckin’ missed you,” Louis gasps in Zayn's ear. “God, God, you feel so good.”

“I missed that,” Zayn whispers throatily back.

“What?”

“You tellin’ me how good I feel.”

He twists his hips, getting in deeper.

“Fuck,” Louis whines. “I'm so hard.”

“I can feel…” Zayn wraps a hand around him. “Lemme help.”

“Please,” he exhales, dropping his head back, a muscle in his thigh jumping.

Zayn comes before he does. _He can't be cheating, he can't be, he wouldn't come that fast._ He lies down over Louis, fingerfucking him with one hand and jerking him off with the other, and Louis runs his hand through Zayn’s hair, gripping at his neck, moaning his name.

 

MALIBU, MAY 2019

Zayn says no to most of rehab.

He says no to therapy, no to group therapy, no to everything they keep trying to push onto him. He figures that in all reality, what he needs is a month to detox and have a break, get his head back on straight. He doesn't need more Dr. Clarks pathologizing every aspect of his psyche. So he mostly swims, reads, and works out, gets hot stone massages by the pool, bored to tears by sobriety but relieved to have some precious time with himself.

He calls Louis every night. Louis is sweet with him, gentle. Maybe too gentle. Zayn can tell he's frightened and disappointed, he knows Louis hates being left alone like this. It isn't fair, though, because Zayn sometimes needs to be alone, and they can't be alone together, can they?

He does miss the kids like crazy. Louis puts them on the phone each time Zayn calls, and their sweet little voices twist his heart in his chest.

He's not really an alcoholic, though, he tells himself. He's only here because he needs a break. It's a bad habit, like biting his nails, and he’s been indulging it too long. He just needs some time alone to get over it.

Officially, he's in for exhaustion. Everyone knows what that really means, so everyone thinks he's on drugs, which really isn't fair, because he hasn't done anything harder than weed in years.

If Zayn didn't feel so sorry for himself over it, he'd feel worse for Louis, who Steve informs him everyone is looking at with pity these days. 

He writes Louis a letter after he's been there a week. It isn't very eloquent, but that's not really how they are with each other.

 

_hey luv_

_we just facetimed an hour ago but i can't sleep (haha what's new). There’s this girl assigned to my row of suites who checks up on me every few days and tries to get me to go to therapy. Been saying no to that, so she says i should write letters to people in my life. I wrote my mum one bc she's worried sick about me being in here and i keep having to convince her I just needed a break_

_I think about you a lot. I miss you. I missed you when I was on tour but honestly i was barely sober for any of it. now i'm back in it and i miss you and the kids like crazy._

_I don't miss drinking that much. i don't think it'll be that hard to stop drinking so much. I know you don't believe me but that's alrite I'll prove it to you xx_

_I love you so much Louis. I'm sorry it’s been like this. i feel like i've been so anxious and just sleepwalking through life for a while. I don't know what it is. I dunno what to do because I want you to push me to think about shit and i want to let you kick the yes men out of my life but when you actually do it i get pissed off… reckon because i want us to be partners in crime. But we're not, right… we're husbands. bit different. Bit more boring. Very adult_

Zayn stops writing, because his eyes are getting hot. When he starts again, he feels himself closing up, not wanting to pour himself out quite so much.

 

_I miss your face and your smile and your arse. and your laugh. even tho i just heard it on the phone. Give the kiddos a kiss from me_

_love, your ball and chain_

 

Louis writes his own letter on the back of his and returns it to him.

 

_Hello to your handsome self xx :)_

_Oh they've got you writing letters now? And I noticed you took your stash of books out of the toilet when you left. You’re one of them like Hemingways or F scott fitzgeralds. And if Mia asks me one more time why she can't take that raggedy stuffed polar bear to football camp (scuse us... soccer camp) I'l turn into that wife of his they put in the loony bin._

_Mate you know I love you to bits. You’ve just really started to scare me lately and I don’t know how to deal with it. I have to focus on the kids since they’re so little, they depend on me completely, but that doesn't mean I don't want to help. Just feel like I'm spread a bit thin. I'd like to go back to music at some point… it'd be nice if we could trade off with focusing on work, but I stepped aside because you've got the more successful career and I reckoned you'd start resenting me if I got in the way._

_Maybe that was the wrong approach cos it seems like putting out another album so soon and then touring after we went through all the stress of another new baby wasn't good for you at all. I'm sorry I said you were ungrateful for leaving the tour, I feel like proper shit about that. I don't know what to do Zayn. If I step aside I feel like a bad husband, but when I push you I feel like a meddling loud cunt wrecking your fun. It's killing me mate._

_I love you and I just want you to come back. I know we’ve been fighting loads but I can handle that, I just can't handle the distance and you being cold._

_I miss you too. I miss everything about you and I have for months. I miss your smile. I miss your hands. I miss your lips. I miss rolling over and kissing you in the morning._ _I want to believe you that you can decide to quit drinking so much. I'll do whatever I can to help. Just come home_

_-the missus_

 

Niall visits him on one of his last days in there. He brings Zayn a tiny cactus in a pot, which Zayn sets on the larger of his two desks. His room is already full of plants -- plants, and windows with gauzy curtains, and Zayn's got books strewn everywhere. Niall comes over and sits on his bed, hands clasped. He's tan, and he's got a knee brace on. Zayn feels a faint, vestigial affection for him, totally unbidden, the kind you would for a distant family member.

“Nice to see you, mate,” he says warily.

“Yeah, you too.”

“Thanks for the… cactus.”

They look at each other for a few beats.

“Security here is wild,” Niall comments. “I thought they were gonna do a cavity search, make sure I haven't got little airplane bottles up me arse.”

Zayn gives him a wry laugh.

“So,” Niall says with a bright smile, and he folds his arms. “Just checking up on you.”

“Checking _up_ on me?”

“In on you. Sorry.”

“Right.” Zayn decides he needs a cigarette for this conversation, and digs a pack and lighter out of his jacket pocket. Niall pre-emptively opens the window; Zayn settles in an armchair and lights up.

“You smoke lights now?” Niall says.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Louis’ got me on them. He's like, one of us has to live to see our kids off to uni.”

“Ha,” Niall says, rather mirthlessly.

“What're you here about, mate?”

“Uhh… just a bit worried about Tommo, honestly. He's putting on a brave face, but --”

“What about my brave face,” Zayn mutters.

“Sorry?”

“I'm not in here for me health, Niall.”

“No, I know,” Niall says. “I know you're goin’ through some shit.” He hesitates. “Been going through some shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Think you been going through shit for a while, really. Think Louis is a bit in denial about that.”

“Well,” Zayn says drily, “then so am I, ‘cos I don't really know what you're talking about.”

“Just, y’know. You finally get out of t’ band, you chew your leg off and get out of the trap, and then you get landed with a pregnant boyfriend who’s beyond cheesed off with you. But you did the right thing. Then you've got a newborn, and he's pregnant again. So you do the right thing again, you marry him.”

“I'm happily married, mate. I dunno what the fuck you're talking about. I love Louis.”

Niall nods, his blue eyes glimmering. “I know you do,” he says. “But I don't think you quite got t’ relief you were hoping for, right? Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as my mum would say.”

Zayn looks down at his hands, a muscle in his jaw jumping. He ashes his cigarette directly onto the floor.

“‘Cos that's why you're in here, right? To get a break? But your life's still out there, waiting.”

“Niall,” he says with difficulty. “Stop.”

Niall says nothing, and when Zayn looks up, his expression is frightening. It's the most serious he's ever seen him look. Gone is the sweet twinkle, the happy-go-lucky smile.

“I don't want to see Louis hurt,” he says, very intently. “You got that? So whatever you need, get it. He's been putting himself through hell over you --”

“I've been going through hell too,” Zayn snaps.

“I know.”

“Glad to know you're just like everyone else, you think Louis is a helpless little victim and I'm this, like, scoundrel who’s runnin’ out on him and spending my days faced while he's taking care of our babies --”

Niall starts laughing at this imagery. “Give me a bit o’ credit! I know Louis, he can be a bit of a scoundrel himself, sometimes.”

“Yeah!”

They look at each other, and despite himself, Zayn chokes back a laugh. Niall grins.

“I've never cheated on him,” Zayn says, after a moment. “I know you've all probably had your knickers twisted over that for a while.”

“Who's you all?”

“Louis’ little fan club,” he says, sort of viciously. “All his friends who’re so far up his arse they hate me ’cos I take priority over them.”

Niall laughs. “Oh-hoo. Cheers.”

“Yeah, well.”

“I'll admit I've wondered about it. You haven't got the best track record.”

“I’ve never touched anyone else.”

“Congrats, then, I’m bloody proud of you.”

“I could really do without the attitude, mate.”

“Oh, Zayn, Christ,” Niall says, the last ounce of cheer finally having drained from his face. “I've tried to make good with you over these last few years, ‘cos I'm close with Louis, and you've never met me even halfway. You don't want a damn thing to do with any of us except him, and that's alright, but don't expect me to fake something that's not there anymore when you can't even be bothered.”

He gets up, comes over and pats Zayn roughly on the shoulder.

“Feel better, mate,” he says. Zayn shrugs his hand off, his whole body rigid with hurt. He sits there, listening to Niall’s footsteps retreat.

"It's not true," he says numbly.

Niall stops, his hand on the knob. "What?"

Zayn turns to him. "It's not true," he says, looking down at his hand. In it, his cigarette’s gone out. "I didn't want nothing to do with you. I wanted... It was just easier. To not try." He breaks off. "D'you get it?"

Niall doesn't say anything, but his jaw gets stiff, and he blinks. "Maybe."

"I'm supposed to make amends," Zayn mutters. "So... Sorry, bro. I kept you at arm's length, mostly. I felt like you were Louis'."

"I don't belong to anybody," Niall says, gently. "And I don't hold grudges."

Zayn blinks back tears. "Whatever."

"It's not too late." He opens the door, then lingers for a moment. "Even now. Just so you know."

Zayn watches him leave, then heaves a hard, shaky exhale.

 

*

 

When Zayn gets out, dragging an LV roller suitcase behind him down the gravel driveway to the gate, Louis is waiting for him at the bottom of the hill.

He's got sunglasses on, Amir on his hip and Mia holding his hand. When Zayn gets close enough for her to recognize him, she breaks away and bolts toward him. He kneels and braces for impact; she collides with him hard, and he holds her close, pressing his nose to her hair, hot tears prickling at the backs of his eyes.

“Daddy,” she peeps in his ear. “Will you be home now?”

“I'll be home now, baby,” he whispers. “I'm home for good, okay?”

“Okay. Pick me up?”

Zayn picks her up and settles her over his shoulders, gripping tight to her little legs. She giggles and grabs handfuls of his hair. “You're a horsey.”

“I am not,” Zayn exclaims.

“Horsey horsey.”

He makes a horse noise for her. Louis starts laughing.

“What was _that_?” he exclaims, as soon as Zayn gets close.

He kisses Louis on the cheek and Amir on his little head. Amir gives him a big smile and points at him with the confident diagnosis of “Daddy!”

“I’m a horse,” he explains to Louis, ruffling Amir’s hair and kissing him on the head.

“That was a _horse_ noise? Sounded like you swallowed your sinuses.”

“Hey,” Zayn says, “when's the last time I saw a horse?”

Louis grins. “Fair. Alright, let’s go home, little family. Chef Mo is making us fancy salads.”

“I want mac and cheese,” Mia shouts in Zayn's ear.

“Nope!” Louis says, opening the backseat door. “Fancy salad.”

 

*

 

Later that night, Louis is curled up on the couch drafting an email while Zayn lies on the floor with an overalls-clad Amir, making up a lullaby for him about the solar system.

Louis keeps glancing at them fondly as he types. He's writing directly to Zayn's manager, agent, and a few others. He keeps editing it, erasing things and then adding them back in.

_Hi all,_

_Zayn is going to be taking some time off. He needs it. I don't want him bothered until I say the word. I don't care if slips in the charts or falls out of the larger conversation, I'll let you know when he's ready to tour or record again, and I'll approve any interviews you want to send him on, any features, any photoshoots or editorials, and any meetings he takes as well. You go through me, not him. I have his approval for this and he'll follow up with you shortly._

_Thanks and regards,_

_Louis Tomlinson_

_Reach me anytime at 310-555-2829_

He gets a text almost immediately.

_Lol hey Louis, it's Pauly, don't know if you have my number.. Got your email. Yeah, I'll go through you for the time being. We all want Zayn to feel better and bring his A game to everything he does… if that means a few years apiece between albums and no more tours then we can live with that. But I'd like you both to go ahead and approve some more merch so we can squeeze as much as we can out of the last album and the joint single_

Louis types _no, fuck off,_ then erases it. _Yeah. can you email me mockups ?_

_Yessir in fact you should already have them._

_Cheers_ , he says, and puts his phone and laptop aside.

“Pluto,” Zayn is singing, “Pluto Pluto Pluto, it’s Mickey Mouse’s dog, it ain't a planet anymo-ore…”

Amir giggles, and Zayn pokes him in the tummy. Louis laughs.

Zayn cranes his neck back and looks up at him. “Got anymore Pluto facts?”

“Nah, mate, I'm clueless.”

“It's made of ice,” Zayn sings, “and rocks, and nitrogen, maybe.”

Louis picks his phone up. “Siri, what's Pluto made of?”

“Sorry, I didn't get that.”

“What's Pluto made of?”

“Sorry, I didn't get that.”

“Fuckin’ --”

“Ice, rocks, and nitrogen,” Zayn sings.

“Probably more than that, though.”

“I mean, yeah.”

“Niall would know.”

“Pudding,” Amir says.

Louis comes and joins them on the floor, grinning. “Pudding? You think Pluto’s made of pudding?”

He nods seriously.

“Hey, who’re we to say,” Zayn says. “Never been there.”

“Been almost everywhere else,” Louis says.

“Yeah.” Zayn reaches up and very gently squeezes Amir’s nose; Amir laughs. “Don't tell us Dubai’s made of pudding, kiddo, we won't be so quick to agree.”

 

BEVERLY HILLS, JUNE 2, 2019

Louis invites Niall by and totally forgets he did so; he and Zayn end up spending a half hour chasing the kids from room to room playing the Claw game, all of them giggling like loons.

Zayn has just upended the very nature of the game and started coming after Louis, pinning him laughing on the couch and tickling his ribs.

“Noo,” Louis cries, “the Claw’s got me, save yourselves, kids --”

Mia leaps between them heroically. Zayn tickles her under the armpits, and she shrieks with glee and rolls away from him like an armadillo.

Amir stands warily back from them on the carpet, his arms pinned to his sides.

“C'mere, love,” Louis says.

“No tickles!” he says firmly.

“No tickles, I promise.”

He comes over and Louis scoops him up, setting him on the couch by his hip. They all lie there for a moment, catching their breath.

“Louis,” Zayn says, bringing his hand up again and curling his fingers.

Louis grins at him. “No, no no --”

“I can't stop it, bruv --”

“No!”

Zayn digs his fingers up into Louis’ armpits as he wriggles away, giggling. He collapses onto Louis, kissing him. Louis runs his hands through Zayn’s hair, holding him fast.

“No kissing,” Mia says to them, and taps Louis insistently on the shoulder.

“Yeah, no kissing,” says Niall’s voice from the doorway, and Louis and Zayn jump, knocking their heads together.

“Uncle Niall!” Mia pops up and runs over to him. Niall scoops her up, grinning. “Hi Mimsy.”

“Oww,” Louis mutters, turning to look. “Shi -- shoot, sorry, lad, forgot what time you were coming.”

“Ah, it's alright,” Niall says. “I should've hollered, but.”

“Yeah, isn't that key for emergencies?”

“It was an emergency,” Niall protests. “It's hot out, I could've had a heatstroke waiting.”

Zayn gets to his feet, smoothing his shirt down where it's ridden up, exposing his hipbones. “Niall, beer?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Louis shoots his husband a look.

“It's for him,” Zayn says, shooting him a look back, “not for me.”

“Alright.”

“I'll ‘ave a water.”

“Alright…”

Mia indicates she wants down, and Niall sets her on the floor. She dashes off, presumably after Zayn, who she follows around like a puppy lately. 

"You want a beer, Yasmeen?" they hear him joke from the hall.

Niall waits until they're clear of earshot, then slyly says, "So it doesn't ever confuse Mims that her dad doesn't know what her name is?"

Louis chokes on a laugh. "Sto-op!"

"Kidding, kidding. I just feel like usually if somebody goes by their middle name, they go by it with everybody, y'know?"

"Oh, I dunno. I prefer Mia, it's less of a mouthful, but it's his little thing with her. I find it sorta cute, honestly."

Niall smiles at this.

Louis pulls Amir onto his lap and strokes his dark hair back, ruffling it. “You're being quiet,” he says to him.

Amir, true to form, doesn't respond.

“Sort of always quiet, inn’e?” Niall says.

“He does talk,” Louis says, a bit defensively. “Anybody'd seem quiet next to Mims, too. She started 'Dada' at six months and hasn't been quiet for ten straight minutes since."

“Maybe he's just shyer around company.”

“Yeah, definitely. He, y’know, watches. He likes to feel things out, first, just sort of linger at the edges.”

“Ah, he's X-Factor Zayn,” Niall says with a smile.

Zayn, coming back in with a beer and a seltzer, says, “Who’s what?”

“Our son,” says Louis. "Billy Tomlinson.”

“Amir Billy, the legend himself,” Niall says.

“Ha.” Zayn pops the pull-tab on the beer, pauses for a strange, long, second, then hands it to Niall and takes a sip of the seltzer. “Yeah, Tommo, you're worried about nothing, seriously."

"I'm not worried! Niall brought it up."

"Noo, no," Niall exclaims. "I just mentioned he's quiet, is all."

"Yeah," Zayn says, shrugging. "He is."

Zayn is funny, Louis thinks -- he's sort of blasé about how fast they're meeting milestones, and yet he's simultaneously convinced that as soon as he turns his back, both of them will tumble down a sewer grate and disappear forever. He leaves the more quotidian, maternal, day-to-day worrying to Louis. His own worries are toweringly existential.

Amir babbles something. Louis hugs him, pressing his nose to his soft hair and taking a deep breath. He smells like Johnson’s baby shampoo.

“I love you,” he murmurs to him.

“Huboo,” Amir coos back, making his heart squeeze.

“Look at him,” Zayn says to Niall, indicating Louis. “‘E’s like the mushiest person in the world, now, he's always like lookin’ at the kids and crying and shit...” He adopts a weepy tone. “‘They're so big! Look at them!’”

“Shit’s a swear!” Mia bellows like the voice of God.

“Yeah, you're right, lovey. Sorry.”

Niall chuckles.

“Haven't you got mushier since you became a dad?” Louis says to him. “I've seen you cry plenty over them, you big poser.”

“I _guess.”_

Louis leans down and whispers, “Tell Daddy ‘I love you.’”

“I luvoo,” Amir chirps at Zayn, who softens.

“Alright, alright,” he mutters, coming over to kiss them both on the head.

“What's that Crosby, Stills and Nash song?” Niall says. “Teach your children?”

Louis and Zayn look at him blankly.

“It's about cryin’ when you look at your kids, being a dad, being on t’ road touring…” He gestures. “C’mon, lads.”

“I'm blanked,” Zayn says.

Niall shakes his head. “No respect for the classics,” he says cheekily.

“Not classics by anybody named Crosby, anyway,” Zayn shoots back, laughing.

 

*

 

Louis and Niall go off on their own, hanging out in one of the shady spots of the garden, having a beer and laughing about nothing like they do.

Niall’s been a massive success, lately, but unlike with Harry, it seems to roll off him, never quite penetrating. They talk about his music for a long time, somehow always gliding gracefully over any mention of the band. Louis hates to bring it up, because he feels so intently that it's his fault, but Niall never blames him -- _Oh, Tommo, it'll happen when the time is right, it's no one’s fault, no one’s angry with you, we all love you, they both miss you._

Today, though, Niall has interesting news for him. Louis is ashing his cigarette into an empty beer can when he says, “So Liam's having a bit o’ trouble in paradise.”

He glances up. Niall is looking at him very carefully, those pale eyes searching every inch of his face.

“Is he,” he says raspily.

“You didn't hear it from me.”

“I never say I do, lad. Scout’s honor.”

Niall chuckles. “You weren't a Scout...”

“He hasn't said anything to me,” Louis says. “We've been texting for a while. About, y’know. Music and the kids and things.”

They text each other about Sunday and Amir a lot, because they're exactly the same age. Liam sends him pictures of her splashing in puddles, gives him updates. She's starting to know colors -- she yelled at him the other day that she wanted to wear her green socks. Louis just texted him last week that ever since Mia started reading a bit, Amir has begun imitating her by picking books up and staring at them, sometimes upside down or with the covers facing inward, which makes Louis have to leave the room because he's laughing so hard.

 _He looks so much like zayn,_ Liam said, when Louis sent him a picture of this phenomenon. _no, wait, like both of you. just the eyes that got me._

 _They're light_ , Louis said. _Lighter than zayn's_

_They're his eyes though.. And he's got the hair_

_The hair?_

_the Mind of Mine hair,_ Liam said. _the baby zayn cut_

_Hahahaha rite he does. They've both got his hair, it's funny. It's so dark and thick, grows like weeds_

_Sunday has ringlets now_

_like shirley temple ?_

_full on, but Ceci says if we cut it they'll go away_

_Nahhh ! That doesn't sound right, you used to be mr. curly boy !_

_Hahaha we'll see. got her first haircut soon_

_first ???_

_Yea cos she was a baldy bean for so long! and if she cries i will cry. i cry at everything now_

_me too honestly_

They don't talk like they used to, but Louis wouldn't expect them to. Enough time passed, and they don't have a common goal anymore, plus there's always that self-imposed wall between them. Ironically, or maybe intentionally, Zayn's song made it even worse. They're watched, now, not only by Zayn, but by Ceci and the entire world. If they met up without the rest of the band, it would be instantly suspect. It's hard to coordinate with busy Niall for anything but a one-on-one, and Louis can't imagine calling up Harry -- “Hi, I know you hate me for stealing your starter husband, even though you deny it like crazy, and you're also very busy being famous and beautiful and perfect, but could you chaperone me and Liam so nobody thinks we're cheating on our spouses with each other? Ta!”

They do see each other at industry events occasionally, always surrounded by prying eyes, but they have a bond that can survive off a couple gentle smiles, shared inside jokes and small talk a few times a year. Like a cactus.

They don't talk about their spouses. And Louis wasn't at their wedding. He got an invitation last summer, addressed to him and Zayn. _Répondez s'il vous plaît. Non, non. We regret we cannot attend._ Louis dropped it back in the post without even telling Zayn about it. He was so afraid he'd have the wrong look on his face when he did.

His excuse was something pitifully contrived. Liam ended up texting him, _Hey tommo it's okay, i knew it was a long shot, you couldve just said no_ , which should have made him feel better but only made him feel weirder, guiltier, dirtier.

But that was only a year ago, their wedding, so he's surprised to hear they're having problems. He nudges Niall’s sneaker with his Van so he coughs up the details.

“Right, I figured he hadn't said anything t’ you.” Niall scratches his bristly cheek. “It’s sort of… I dunno. It's complicated. I think what it is, is, they might've got married too fast.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I could see that. Can't really talk, meself, but…”

Niall chuckles. “‘Least you knew Zayn for five years first, and lived with him a lot o’ that time.”

“Yeah, s’pose you're right. Anyway.”

“Anyway. He said they've sort of run out of things to talk about. Like, the spark’s going. He's trying like mad to keep it together. I think they're alright, for now.” He shrugs. “I just worry about him.”

“It's hard, when..” Louis stops himself.

Niall looks up at him. They're silent for a good long moment. Louis looks into the distance, watching the palm trees sway.

“When the honeymoon’s over,” he mutters. “‘Specially when you've got a kid.”

“You two having problems too?”

“Niall, I know you know we are.”

“Shit, did Zayn tell you?”

“Huh?” Louis finally glances back over at him.

Niall looks funny, all hangdog and guilty. “He didn't?”

“Tell me what, lad?”

Niall lies down in the grass, rubbing at his eyes. “I went to see him in rehab.”

“Oh.” Louis is surprised, in an unpleasant, prickly way. “Why?”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Neil.”

Niall drops his hand from his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. “I just went in an’ told him to get his act together.”

Louis feels touched and betrayed all at once. “Lad…”

“I know. It wasn't my place. Regretted it as soon as I did it.”

“Then why did you?”

Niall looks over at him, his face wan. “Lad… the shit you tell me… anybody’d be a bit worried.”

“What?” Louis face and chest grow hot, and he lets out a surprised laugh. “We're fine. He's just struggling a bit.”

“Look, he's been struggling since you went t’ live with him. He was drinking like a fish then too. Almost missed the baby bein’ born. You don't see the patterns? You don't know what it's like t’ get those texts from you... the things you tell me you two say to each other --"

“Hey!” Louis shouts. “That shit’s all out of context! It's just me venting! Happens in every marriage!”

Niall’s expression remains the same. Louis wants to slap him.

“It's not _all_ like that! When we're happy, we're really fuckin’ happy! And we've always fought like that!”

“It was never this bad, in the band.”

“Well, we're married, now! And parents! It's fuckin’ stressful!”

“I know,” Niall says gently. “And I dunno if he can handle it.”

“Maybe it's me who can't handle it!” Louis shouts, his voice cracking. “Maybe I'm driving him to drink! Ever thought of that?”

“No, ‘cos that's not how addictions work.”

Louis gets up and walks away, his heart thumping with anger. He lights another cigarette, then goes and sits in the sandbox they installed for the kids, smoking and trying not to be angry. Niall's just worried about him. He doesn't get it, he's biased against Zayn, he has been for a while.

Niall comes over and perches next to him on the outer rim, his hands clasped together, his eyes dark with concern. “Tommo…”

Louis shakes his head, at a loss for what to say. “He just needs time,” he finally says. “I needed time, myself, when we first got back together…”

“I know.”

“I love him.”

“I know.”

“He loves me.”

“He does.”

“So,” Louis says stiffly, and takes a drag.

“Hey, I want it to work, Louis. I just want you to be happy, and you haven't seemed it, that's all. You don't joke as much anymore. You've lost weight. You seem anxious all the time.”

“It's been a tough year."

"I know," he says, for a final time. 

*

 

When Niall leaves and Ingrid's off on a walk with the kids, Louis finds Zayn in the dining room, painting on a blank wall. The paintings that had previously hung there sit discarded, propped up against the other wall. He's painting carelessly with a roller in big streaks of varying blue shades, pots of paint sitting open by his bare feet.

Louis comes over to him and pulls out a chair, perching in it. Slowly it becomes clear what Zayn is trying to do. “That's cool,” he says. “Looks like waves.”

Zayn nods, not looking at him. “You two been out there talking about how awful I am?”

“No, love.”

“Did he tell you he came and saw me when I was away? Read me the riot act?”

“He told me he came and saw you, and he said it was out of line and he regretted it, and I totally agree, he was.”

“That's cool,” Zayn says. “Tells you he's sorry, but not me.”

“He's just worried about us.”

“He don't need to be. None of his fuckin’ business.”

“He's one of me closest friends. Like a brother to me.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“He’s wanted to be close with you again,” Louis says, plaintive. “You never come to his shows with me, I always offer --”

“I think that ship’s sailed,” Zayn mutters. “He feels how he feels about me. Thinks I'm a disloyal dirtbag. So, there you are.”

They go silent; there's only the sound of the paint roller against the wall. Louis get his phone out under the table, flicks the sound switch off and opens Safari.

 _What's it like to be married to an alcoholic_ , he Googles, and starts reading.

_What makes dealing with high-functioning alcoholics so challenging? Functional alcoholics are often in deep denial about their problem. After all, they have managed to maintain the appearance of success in spite of their addiction…_

New tab.

_… you’re scared, you’re hurt, you’re completely overwhelmed — and you know it’s not right, and it’s not who your partner is at heart. That’s enough of a start…_

New tab.

_… many alcoholics will resist any attempts you make to talk to them about their alcohol problem and likewise try to explain their drinking away with excuses like, “I’m not that bad,” and “It wasn’t my fault,” or by trying to shift the focus of the conversation to your flaws..._

Louis’ head begins to buzz. His mouth grows dry.

“You're quiet,” Zayn finally says to him, turning with the roller in his hand. He looks lovely in the low natural light, his dark thick hair swept back from his temples, a spot of blue paint smudged on his cheek.

Louis is sick with pain, looking at him.

“Yeah,” he mutters.

“What's up?”

He hesitates. “You never told me… You never said what the last straw was, on the tour.”

Zayn lets out a soft sigh, then kneels and starts mixing paint colors together. After a while, he says, “I started, uh… Before I’d go on, I'd get this thing, like, where -- I dunno.” He pauses, thinking.

He looks thin and fragile, suddenly. Louis wants to hold him, to protect him. He thinks for the thousandth time of early 2015, how he took Zayn inside himself over and over to heal him, wrapped his legs around him, held him close -- how that worked, until it didn't. Whatever power Louis has between his legs, it's not enough.

“I would sort of go out of myself,” Zayn says. “I can't ever explain it right. It would feel like real life was a movie. And everyone felt like they were talking to me from behind glass. I could barely hear meself sing. And it just got worse.” He swallows, his jaw tight. “Scared the shit out of me. I tried Xans again, but then I thought I was gonna fall asleep on stage, and I tried weed, but it made it worse. So I drank. I was drunk at every fuckin’ date. And on Friday, in the afternoon, they came to get me for soundcheck and I was lyin’ facedown on my hotel room floor in me own puke. So.”

“Zayn,” Louis breathes, his heart clenching with fear.

Zayn tosses the roller down, rubbing at his eyes. “‘S’whatever. I'm just so fuckin’ tired…”

“Why didn't you say something to me? Why didn't you call me? I would have done something, I’d have flown out and been with you --”

“‘Cos you'd make that face!” Zayn shouts, meeting his eyes. “That face you've got on right now, like -- you're scared about me, like you don't feel safe with me, like I let you down --”

“I'm only _worried_ about you! You're my fucking husband!”

Zayn staggers to his feet. “I can't do anythin’ for you,” he spits, “I can't provide for you, you got your own money, I can't make you feel safe, I can't protect you from the people who talk shit about you, or the paps, or anyone --”

“That's not your job!”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, “thing is, I don't know what my fuckin’ job even is. Do I even matter around here? Did it matter when I was gone on tour, or in the spring?”

“Yes!” Louis screams. “I missed you somethin’ awful! The kids missed you! Mia missed you every day! Wouldn't shut up about you!”

Zayn seems unable or unwilling to recognize this as the truth.

“Is this why you wanted to have another baby?” Louis says. “‘Cos when I'm pregnant, I need you to take care of me?”

“I dunno,” he groans. “I dunno what I want. And, like --”

Louis gets up and wraps his arms around him, cradling him close. Zayn rests his forehead against his shoulder.

“I told you, I’ve got these headaches, the past couple months,” he murmurs in Louis’ ear. “And I'm grouchy all the time. Been trying to hide it.”

“It's probably withdrawals,” Louis whispers back. “It's like quitting smoking, or weed, that's all, it's fine, we'll get you through it --”

“It's so much worse than quitting smoking…”

“I'll get you through this,” Louis says fiercely. “I will. You're tough. You've got me.”

 

 

*

 

Zayn goes out that night to see some friends. Louis, whose hindbrain has begun to throb with some kind of maternal intuition, calls the combined expertise of their security teams over as soon as he's gone, so they can search the house for stashed booze.

They find a shitload. To his relief, nearly all the bottles are unopened -- it's like they're fire extinguishers. Break in case of emergency.

He manages to get Amir settled down, quietly playing in the nursery, but Mia is stubbornly inquisitive as ever and follows him from room to room, dragging her ratty polar bear along behind her.

“What’re they looking for?” she says, tugging on Louis’ shirttail.

He musses her hair. “Nothing, we’re just cleaning, okay? You wanna go play with your brother?”

Daniel unearths a bottle of Stoli from behind a pipe in the downstairs bathroom’s long sandalwood vanity, holding it up for Louis to see. “Not open.”

Louis nods at him and anxiously ushers Mia out of the room before she can see.

“Go play with Amir,” he says, walking her down the hall and ignoring her whining. “Go.”

She turns and gives him an eyes-narrowed stare. “Mean!” she shouts at him.

“Yeah, that's me. Go.”

He returns to the bathroom. Daniel has tossed the Stoli into a garbage bag he's carrying. The bottles inside clank together.

“That's it,” he says. “That was the last room.”

Louis takes the bag from him and counts. Fifteen in all. Only one was open -- the Hennessy they found in the in-home theater, stuffed under one of the recliners.

“Okay,” he says calmly.

Sean climbs out of the shower, flicking his flashlight off. “Nothing in here. Even checked in the ceiling.”

Daniel claps Louis on the shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah, we’re square. Thanks, lads.”

“Alright. I'll go get Benny, he was giving the master bedroom another sweep.”

 

*

 

Louis is on the phone with his friend Marcus when Zayn gets home; he doesn't hang up, just waits for him to find him in the sitting room.

Zayn slumps onto the couch in the conversation pit, watching him. Louis finally rings off, draws near to him and settles in his lap, snogging him.

Zayn comes to life, slipping his hands around Louis’ waist, his rings snagging his shirt and pulling it up.

“Hey,” Louis whispers to him, and grabs the trash bag where it sits next to them on the couch.

He pulls back from Zayn, who blinks at him, red-lipped from kissing, still holding onto his waist. Louis opens the bag and shows him the contents.

“The fuck are these?”

Zayn looks terribly nervous, and like he wants to flee, but Louis is still in his lap, pinning him down.

“Are you still drinking?”

“No, Louis --”

He roots through the bag for the half-empty Hennessy. _Clink clink clink_. His heart is going like a jackhammer.

Zayn stares at it. “That's from before...”

“Why were these hidden all over the place? Why?”

“Why're you ransacking the house?” He's angry, now, like he's backed into a corner. “You don't trust me?”

“I trust _you_ ,” Louis says. “I don't trust your drinking problem.”

“I don't have a fuckin’ drinking problem! I haven't drank since April!”

“But you want to!”

“‘Course I want to!” Zayn bellows. “Who wouldn't, with you up their arse all the time?”

Furious, Louis stands and upends the bottles onto his lap. Zayn frantically knocks them away onto the couch and floor, like he's afraid to be touched by them, terrified by their proximity.

Louis stands there, breathing hard, staring at him.

“I didn't mean that,” Zayn says quietly. “That's not -- Louis, you don't make me drink --”

“ _Then why do you say shit like that to me!”_

 _“‘Cos you drive me fucking crazy!_ ”

They stand there in enraged silence; Zayn gets up, suddenly, and starts kissing him again. Louis twists away.

“C’mon,” Zayn cajoles.

“I don't want you to touch me right now,” he mutters. “I'm gonna -- I'm gonna throw these out and go check on the kids.”

He starts tossing the bottles back into the bag.

“I can take care of that.”

“I don't trust you to,” Louis mutters.

Zayn sighs heavily, then climbs out of the pit and saunters off. “Then _I'll_ go check on the kids,” he throws out over his shoulder.

Louis listens to his footsteps as he collects up the bottles, his head throbbing with anger.

 

*

 

He's in the shower when Zayn comes to him, knocking on the fogged up glass.

“Come in,” he calls.

Zayn undresses and sets his watch on the edge of the tub with a clink. He slides open the glass door and steps in, the steam glowing in droplets on his chest hair and the silver cross around his neck, his eyes limpid and sad.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs.

He comes close, and Louis tilts his chin up; Zayn presses him against the wall, hands cupped to his face. They stay there, snogging for a while, the water pouring over them. Then Zayn lowers himself to his knees and starts mouthing at his cock with those lovely lips, gazing up at him.

“Hi,” Louis breathes. “Yeah, go on, then.”

Zayn suck his cock with eager tenderness, tonguing him obscenely, groping his balls. Louis gasps and rolls his head against the shower wall. It's only a few minutes before he comes; he hasn't been touched like that in a while. Zayn spits and stands, wrapping his arms back around him, snogging him hard.

They dry each other off and curl up in bed; Louis between his legs, back to Zayn’s stomach and chest, and Zayn keeps his arms around him, lips pressed to his hair. They don't say anything to each other.

Around ten their door creaks open, and Amir sneaks in, rubbing at his eyes.

“Got a little visitor,” Zayn murmurs.

“Looks like it.”

“C'mere, love.”

Amir climbs up onto their bed like a wee monkey, then crawls over to them. Zayn leaves Louis to go snatch him up, holding him in the air and then bringing him down and blowing raspberries on his belly. Amir giggles and protests, kicking his legs, his dark hair flopping back from his forehead.

“Can't sleep?” Louis says to him, reaching out and stroking his head.

“No. There's monsters,” Amir says, looking up at him.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“No,” Zayn murmurs to him, “no monsters, lovey.”

“Daddy found monsters,” Amir says, and points at Louis.

Zayn’s expression tightens up. Louis feels ashamed, grief-stricken, and concerned all at once.

“Not monsters, kiddo,” he says. “We were just cleaning.”

“Daniel keeps the monsters away,” Amir tells him.

“Who told you that?”

“Mia.”

He squeezes Amir’s cheek. “That's just silliness, love. He's just my bodyguard.”

“Let’s go back to bed,” Zayn says, scooping him up. “No monsters, okay?”

“No monsters,” Louis murmurs.

He watches Zayn cradle their baby -- watches the gentleness of his arms, the tender look on his face. And then he's out the door, and down the hall.

 

LOS ANGELES, AUGUST 2, 2019

Some days, sober Zayn is full of jittery energy, not wanting to sit still, talkative and funny and distractible, and then some days he's like a cat -- sleeping for most of the day, irascible when he wakes.

On one of his chipper days, he comes home from a workout and finds Louis upstairs in the bathroom, kneeling in the bathtub, trying to ease gum out of Mia’s hair. His hands and her head are slick with the toothpaste he's using to try and loosen it, and she shrieks every time he tugs her hair the slightest bit.

“I've barely touched you!” Louis exclaims. “Just hold still so I can get it out!”

Zayn lingers in the doorway in his tank top and joggers, watching this with an impassive expression. Louis looks up at him.

“What ‘appened?” Zayn says.

“Gum.”

“You let her chew gum?”

“No! Her older friend from down the street -- Trina or whatever her name is, Mia tackled her playing tag and Trina’s gum came out of her mouth, they tumbled, when Mia realized she tried to pull it out and got it stuck more in.”

“You use ice cubes for that,” Zayn says, coming over and sitting on the edge of the tub. “She _tackled_ her? That girl’s like a head taller. Sick. Our little wide receiver.”

“Daddy,” Mia wails, “get it out.”

“We might have to cut all your hair off,” Zayn jokes.

“ _No_!”

“You don't want a buzz cut, love?”

“ _Daddy_!”

Louis winces. Her shrieks could shatter glass. “No one’s gonna shave your head, Mims,” he says, shooting Zayn a look.

“I was kidding!”

“I know, but she doesn't. Can you bring an ice tray up here?”

“Uh-huh.”

He departs, and Louis kneels so he can rinse the remaining toothpaste out of her hair. He’s able to pick a few pieces of gum out, after. Mia lets out a wet sniffle.

Louis shifts in his soaked jeans and pats her on the back. “It'll be okay, lovey. This isn't the end of the world.”

“I like my hair!”

“I know, sweets.”

Zayn returns with a few ice trays and kneels with them on the bath mat beside the tub. Louis hears the trays crack and the ice cubes scatter as Zayn empties them.

He extends his open palm, and Zayn drops one into it. “Thanks. Sorry for snapping at you.”

“‘S’alright,” Zayn mutters. “Hey, the reason I came up here was -- you wanna have a date night, tonight?”

Louis starts rubbing an ice cube onto the largest hunk of bubblegum, smiling. “Yeah, definitely. What’d you have in mind?”

“There's this new hookah bar downtown…”

“Hookah? They still have those?”

“Yeah!”

“You're serious about this?”

“I mean, something to do that's not drinking or…” He mimes smoking a joint.

Louis laughs. “Yeah, alright, sure.”

Mia is apprehensively quiet as he starts to ease a piece of it free from her hair. “Is it coming out?”

“Shh, love. Let me work.”

“I'm gonna go find sonny,” Zayn says, getting to his feet with a little groan and tugging down his tank where it rode up.

“Billy boy? Billy Elliot? He's in his room.”

“Aw, don't call him Billy…”

“Why not? You call Mia her middle name.”

“‘S’different,” Zayn mutters.

“How?” Louis tosses another little hunk of it into the trash.

He shrugs. “Just is,” he says, then pauses in the doorway and turns back to Louis. “Hey, wear something cute tonight.”

Louis grins. “Alright...”

Zayn’s dark eyes flicker, and the corners of his lips twitch up. “Wear those jeans I like, yeah?”

Louis feels a little flutter in his gut, and he glances back down, still smiling. “Yeah, alright.”

 

*

 

Louis walks in on Zayn getting ready that evening -- in the bathroom with the lights dimmed, combing his hair back. It's getting a bit long, and a piece flops into his eyes after the comb leaves it. It's a chilly night, for August; he's got a leather jacket on.

Louis slips his arms around his waist and rests his chin on his shoulder. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Zayn says softly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “What's up?”

“Nothin’. Ingrid just got here, so we can roll out whenever you like.”

“Cool. You got those jeans on?”

“Uh-huh,” Louis breathes in his ear.

Zayn reaches behind himself and slips a hand down Louis’ trousers, under the fabric of his briefs, his cool hand making gooseflesh rise on Louis’ lower back. He gives Louis’ arse a hard, possessive squeeze.

Louis bites his earlobe. “Bad boy.”

“You're the bad boy,” Zayn murmurs.

“No, you are.”

“We can both be the bad boy.”

“Then who's the good boy?”

Zayn gives him another squeeze. “Fuck a good boy.”

 

*

 

The hookah bar is more of a lounge. It's a really young vibe, opulent to the point of tackiness, with black reflective walls and dark velvet benches in the little individual booths. Some of the booths have their curtains closed, and smoke billows out from underneath them.

The hostess guides them to a booth, and once they're seated, says, “What flavor do you guys want to start with?”

Zayn takes the menu she's offering. “Um… dunno. Louis?”

Louis scoots closer to him and looks over his shoulder. “Pineapple sounds good.”

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.” He hands it back to her. “Pineapple, thanks.”

She nods and clacks away.

Zayn tugs at the curtain. “Reminds me of the buses.”

“Oh, yeah. The bunks.”

“Yeah.” He smiles, his teeth flashing in the dark, and he settles his hand on Louis’ thigh. “Remember hotboxing those?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs. “I remember having sex in ‘em, mostly.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And there was like, barely any room to move…”

“God, right, and it got _so_ fucking warm.”

“It was hot, though.” Louis laughs. “‘Cos it wasn't like in the hotels, where you could lock the door… we could get walked in on at any second.”

Zayn meets his eyes, and slides his hand a bit higher. Louis’ skin prickles with pleasant heat under his hand.

A bloke wearing an apron comes to set up the hookah, settling the coals on top of the foil. “There you go.”

They thank him, and Zayn brings the mouthpiece to his lips. He takes a long drag, then French inhales the smoke.

Louis stares at him, then reaches over and tugs the curtain shut.

“Hey,” Zayn says, grinning.

“Hi.” Louis pulls the hose out of his fingers and takes his own long drag of cloyingly sweet smoke. The nicotine hits his brain like a gunshot off a snare drum.

He exhales and moves closer to Zayn, seeking the warmth of his body. Zayn presses his nose to Louis’ hairline and starts stroking his back.

“I sort of want to make you come right now,” Louis murmurs, his voice very low.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Zayn spreads his legs a bit wider. “That's really hot,” he says throatily.

“You think so?”

“Yeah.”

“What if we get caught?”

Zayn grins. “Imagine the press we’d get.”

Louis has a sudden flash of apprehension. He doesn't want his kids hearing about this someday, if it were to get out; it's a bad decision for that alone. But they've been so disconnected lately, and this feels like old times. How can he pass that up?

They smoke more of the hookah, blowing smoke in each other’s faces until the little booth is thickly hazy. Louis crawls into Zayn’s lap, and they kiss, long and slow. He slips his hands around Zayn’s neck, his watch falling down his wrist, and strokes his thumbs over the nape of Zayn’s neck.

“How's sobriety going?” he murmurs.

“Sucks,” Zayn says.

“Noticed you've been working out a lot…”

“Takes my mind off it.”

“We should go away,” Louis says. “Go somewhere. Get away from it all.”

“Yeah, I'd like that. Our anniversary’s comin’ up.”

“Right, right.”

They kiss some more. Louis finds himself wishing they could talk like they did six years ago, in that idealized, young way they had, where the future was wide open and incredible, when anything could still happen. Their conversations seem to have shrunk from being about ideas to being about things.

And they've grown cyclical, like the years themselves. The same way it's suddenly Halloween again when it feels like it was Christmas last week, it’s always the same things -- one of the kids is having a birthday, or needs to go to the dentist, or get vaccinated, or it's their anniversary again, or the dog needs to go to the vet because he's favoring his back right paw, or there’s a friend’s wedding they need to attend, or a contract that needs renegotiating, or a bullshit story in TMZ that needs a C&D ordered, or someone needs to either go get milk or Postmates for milk -- and why can't we keep fucking milk in the house for longer than ten minutes? How do four people possibly drink this much milk?

It isn't too different than it was in the band, when they were on a hamster wheel of touring and recording and promo. At least here, if one of them starts feeling pinned, they’re allowed to escape -- go for a midnight drive along the coast and scream in the car with the windows rolled up. No security chasing after them, no handler reminding them to get some sleep because they have to wake up at 6 a.m. to approve fucking toothpaste flavors.

But it's drearier, too, because they were so constantly overstimulated then -- every night was an adrenaline high with thousands of people screaming at them. _For_ them. But really, at them.

And Louis misses performing in a way Zayn clearly doesn't. He must miss the endless stimulation, though. How couldn't he? To just exist is dreadfully boring -- something they both feel, albeit in different ways.

Neither Zayn or Louis is good at being boring. At least not with each other. They don't know how. And the alternative to hamfisted, faltering boredom is awful turmoil that makes Louis feel like he's teetering on the precipice of abandonment.

Louis breathes out pineapple-flavored smoke and starts rubbing Zayn’s at cock through his jeans. “I wanna make you come in these.”

Zayn shifts under him, inhaling through his nose. “Fuck.”

“And when we get home, I wanna fuck you.”

Zayn tilts his head up, and they kiss some more, Louis rubbing feverishly at his cock through his pants.

“I wanna fuck you too,” he groans.

“Okay,” Louis whispers.

Zayn’s nails dig into his back as Louis works his hand more steadily, massaging the stiff length of him, delighting in the flecks of precome blooming through the fabric.

“Fuck,” Zayn groans. “You're really gonna make me come in here.”

Anxiety has crept into his voice, which is already throaty with arousal. Louis finds the combination intoxicating.

“Yeah,” he purrs. “I am.”

He leans down, continuing to massage Zayn’s bollocks, and starts mouthing at his cock through his jeans.

“Christ,” he hisses, tensing.

“Should I stop?” Louis murmurs.

“No.” Zayn grabs him hard by the hair. “Don't.”

This makes Louis even hotter, and he mouths at Zayn’s cock more vigorously, staining the fabric with spit and precome. He lightly grazes his teeth against him and Zayn shudders, tightening his grip on Louis’ hair.

“I wanna fuck you in the car,” he whispers hoarsely, and kisses Zayn’s cock.

Zayn lets out a strangled moan, and then he's coming. Louis draws back and watches the wet spot bloom in his jeans. He glances up and sees Zayn flushed and biting down on his lip, his pupils large in his dark eyes.

“Nice,” Louis whispers.

“Can we get out of here?”

“Yeah.”

Louis sits up, and Zayn pulls off his jacket, tying it around his waist. They each take a final long hit off the hookah, then leave a crumpled hundred on the table and hurry out into the dark car park.

 

*

 

Of course they don't have lube in the car, so they have to drive to an all-night Walgreens. Louis laughs to himself as he sits there in the backseat with a painful hard-on, watching through the window as Zayn awkwardly shuffles up to the front door, trying to keep his jacket from slipping down off his flat arse.

It feels like forever until he gets back. Zayn climbs in, tosses the bag into the passenger seat and starts the car back up with the soft growl of a V8; Louis peeks his head out between the seats. “Why not just do it here?”

“You kidding? We’re going somewhere private.”

“But I'm so hard,” he whines.

“Tommo, cut it out.”

“Is it that you don't want to get caught getting fucked by me?”

“No, not at all,” he snaps, and he sounds sincere, so Louis drops it.

Zayn drives for about ten minutes, further up into the hills. He lets the radio play, but Louis barely listens to it. He watches the headlights pool on the road ahead and shifts in discomfort whenever his cock throbs.

Finally, they stop at a woody overlook. Zayn turns the car off, keys jingling in his fingers. Louis stares hungrily at him in the darkness, at the way his pretty face is lit up by the glittering city below.

Zayn comes back and joins him. They start to snog, hard and wet. Louis rubs at Zayn’s spent cock, and he whimpers a little like he's oversensitive. It's probably been rubbed raw by his tight, wet jeans. Oops.

Louis remedies this by peeling them off of him. Zayn grips the back of his neck and gives him an appreciative squeeze.

Slowly, Louis lowers him back against the seats, kissing him all over his face and neck. Zayn gazes lustily up at him, his dark hair falling back from his face.

Louis shimmies out of his own trousers and takes the lube in hand. “Why don't we do this more often?” he whispers.

“What, you fucking me?” Zayn says breathily. “Dunno. I'm an idiot?”

Louis laughs low in his gut and squeezes the lube onto his fingers, warming it up in his hands before he reaches down to ease one into Zayn.

Zayn inhales and settles back across the seats, spreading his thighs a bit. “Careful.”

“Always am, love.”

He starts to finger him, and Zayn squeezes his eyes shut, biting at his lip.

Louis sighs. “You look so good…”

Zayn’s lips twitch upward in the faintest pleasure at this, and then they part as Louis slips another finger in him. Zayn lets out a breath, softly, his chest falling.

Louis continues to work at him. Outside the car, crickets are chirping.

“I read somewhere that's a mating call,” he says breathily. “Crickets.”

“Yeah?” Zayn says, giving him his usual half-lidded, expressionless look, except his dark eyes are dreamy and his lips are flushed.

“Yeah,” Louis says, leaning down to steal a kiss off him.

Zayn nuzzles at him. “I think I'm good.”

“Alright…”

Louis lets out a shuddering exhale at the first few inches of tight heat on his cock. Zayn grips at the back of his neck, making soft sounds of discomfort.

“Stop?” Louis says, pausing.

“Nah, go on… Just wish I was drunk…”

His heart skips a beat out of fear. “Don't say that.”

“Never mind, Lou…”

In the darkness and quiet, their grunts and groans seem overloud as Louis adjusts inside of him and then works his way into a steady rhythm.

One of Zayn’s moans catches in his throat, tailing off into a lovely sighing exhale. Fucking _Zayn_ \-- even his moans sound perfect --

Louis feels the strong nicotine rush from before still thudding fuzzy in his veins and head as he fucks him, his face pressed to the crook of his neck and Zayn’s arms around his waist. He loves being inside him. He loves that they like being inside each other, bleeding together like black holes, building nests in each other’s ribcages like robins. Or hornets.

Zayn moans his name very softly in his ear, and Louis has a hot stab of arousal in his gut. He fumbles between them to take Zayn’s hard, leaking cock in his hand, and starts stroking him. Zayn lolls his head over and kisses him, sucking at his lip.

Louis starts working his hips harder, wanting to come. Zayn rakes his nails up his back and then digs them in; it stings, but grounds him, and he keeps at it fiendishly until he's coming inside of him with a little sigh.

“I love you,” he breathes.

Zayn kisses him on the head. “Love you too.”

He pulls wetly out of Zayn and refocuses his attention on jerking him off while they make out. Zayn comes not too soon after him, his breath catching, and then they lie there for a while, holding each other and listening to the crickets. The moon hanging low and full in the sky is making the fogged up windows glow.

“‘S’like _Titanic_ ,” Louis murmurs.

“Huh?”

“When they fuck in the car… the windows.”

“Oh, right. Ha. Didn't know that actually happened.”

“Really? You've fucked in cars before.”

“Guess I wasn't paying attention.”

Louis kisses him on the collarbone.

 

LOS ANGELES, AUGUST 29, 2019

The seasons in So-Cal never change, of course, but Zayn and Louis decide to take the kids on a ski holiday in Gstaad before Mia has to start preschool, and the frigid air there makes Zayn’s more battered joints start bothering him. So as soon as they're back, he makes a cryotherapy appointment.

He did have fun on the trip. The kids aren't old enough to do anything but toddle around in big puffy coats, but Lottie came along, and she was happy to sit with Mia and Amir in the lounge while Zayn and Louis went off to go ski (mostly, they smoked joints on the chairlift and tried to ash onto the people walking under them).

Of course, every time they were back in the resort, it was a non-stop, white-knuckle thrill ride of temptation for Zayn. Everywhere, spiced rum, buttered rum, mulled cider, aged brandy, craft beer, gorgeous French wines. Louis and Lottie, drunk by the fireplace, grinning and laughing. He made a habit of going to bed early just so he'd spend less total time fighting the urge to drink. He fucked Louis so hard out of frustration their first night there that Louis spent the whole next day limping around the slopes like he’d been gutshot.

The cryotherapy office is nearly empty when he gets there, and Zayn's about to just have a seat when he sees Harry handing his Amex Black to the woman behind the front desk.

Zayn stares at him, and Harry pretends not to notice at first -- but then it gets to a point where it's no longer believable, and he turns.

“Hi,” he says, friendly but totally blase, like Zayn is his gardener.

“Hey,” Zayn says stiffly.

They say nothing, sizing each other up.

“How're you,” he finally offers, no question mark on the end.

“Fantastic,” Harry says.

“Great.”

“How was Gstaad?”

He must have seen the pap pics. “Fantastic,” he says, imitating Harry’s drawl.

“And how's your…” Harry eyes him. “‘Exhaustion?’”

Zayn is instantly inflamed with anger. This smug prick. “Alright,” he says loudly. “How's your coke problem?”

The only other person there -- a very wealthy-looking old woman -- goes dead silent, then quietly flips the page of her magazine.

Harry says nothing, his rings flashing in the sunshine coming in the window as he signs his bill with a big loopy flourish.

He turns and walks toward the door, not even looking at Zayn, but as he passes him, he wryly says, “Meow.”

“You started it.”

Harry lifts an eyebrow at him as he tugs the door open. “Very mature.”

And then he's gone.

Zayn spends his entire time in the cryo tank steaming with annoyance, wishing he had said something much more cutting and clever.

 

*

 

When he gets back, he's greeted at the door by the dog and Mia, who's wearing a tiny backpack made of that holographic material, and carrying around a pack of crayons.

“What're you doing, silly?” he says to her, scratching Bo behind the ears.

“Practicing!” she chirps.

“Practicin’? For school?”

“Yeah!”

“You don't need to practice, lovey, it's just preschool, they won't work you too hard.”

Around the corner comes Louis, hitching up the sleeves of his jumper, and Lottie behind him.

“He-ey, thought I heard you drive up.” He's smiling.

“They freeze you good?”

Zayn nods. “Still a bit numb.”

“Not everywhere, I hope,” Louis says with a wink.

“Shh,” Zayn whispers with a grin. Mia looks between them in innocent curiosity.

“I'm off,” Lottie says, giving Louis a squeeze. “Don't forget to send me the proofs from that shoot!”

“I won't, I won't. Ta.”

“Hey, Zayn,” she says, with a sort of tight-lipped smile that sends up an alarm in his head. He wonders if they've been talking about him.

“Hey, good to see you.”

“You too, sorry I'm running out.”

“Say bye,” Louis instructs Mia.

“BYE,” she shouts. “Goodbye Aunt Lottie!”

“Bye, sweetie!”

“Bye-bye!”

“Bye!”

“Okay bye!”

“I think she gets it,” Louis says, smiling at her and ruffling her hair.

The door shuts.

“Bye!” Mia continues.

“Mia.”

“Bye bye,” Mia babbles. “Bye bye bye.”

“Your teacher's gonna love you,” Louis tells her in fond amusement.

“She's spirited,” Zayn says.

“She likes the sound of her own voice.”

“I wonder where she gets that.”

“Ha, ha ha ha ha. That reminds me.” Louis snaps his fingers. “We’re supposed to meet with Miss Krista tomorrow, one-on-one, she's doing it for all the kids. And if we bring Amir, she can let us know early if he can get on next year’s class list.”

“Alright,” Zayn says.

“I’m telling you this ‘cos you're coming with, obviously.”

“Ohh, oh. Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

Mia starts heading up the large main staircase, singing to herself. Zayn watches her anxiously, moving closer in case she tumbles, but she's fairly good at stairs now.

Louis eyes him. “You look funny.”

“Huh,” Zayn says. “‘M fine. Just numb, like I said.”

“Alright.”

“Something funny did happen, though.” He hesitates, wondering if he should tell this story, then barrels forward: “Ran into Harry at the doctor’s office.”

Louis’ eyebrows go up, and the corners of his mouth flatten. Nope, he shouldn't have said anything. Mentioning Harry to Louis is like lighting a cigarette while you're pumping gas.

“Wasn't too friendly,” he adds.

“Yeah, don't imagine it was.”

“Hear he's been sort of a prick, lately.”

“I dunno about that,” Louis says. “He sent me a nice note when my record came out.”

Zayn shrugs. “Whatever. Maybe I've got biased sources.”

“I imagine you do.” He's suddenly withdrawn and weird.

“Doing a lot of imagining, are we?” Zayn cracks, trying to pull him back.

Louis shrugs.

“What's up?”

“I dunno, what's up?”

“Nothing.”

“You wanna have sex?”

“Nah.”

Zayn sighs. “You wanna smoke?”

“Zayn…” Louis’ hands go to his hips. “I’m not a vending machine.”

“What's that mean?”

“You can't just stick stuff in me ‘til the right reaction pops out.”

Zayn laughs. “That what you think I'm doin’, mate?”

“I just wanna be alone, is that okay?”

“Yeah, I just don't get what you're suddenly so pissy about.”

“Pissy,” Louis repeats, sibilantly.

“Whatever --”

“I’m not pissy. Why are we even fighting right now?”

“‘Cos you got all weird and accused me of acting like you're a vending machine!” Zayn exclaims.

“I just -- when you talk about Harry, you get, like, all angry and sad and horny!”

“ _What_?”

“You do! Remember when you two had a single come out on the same day last year, and he beat you something rotten, you came home all narky and --” (he drops his voice) “-- fucked the daylights out of me!”

“I was pissed off! I just wanted to get my mind off it!”

“By rolling me over and poundin’ away at me for half an hour straight?”

“You liked that!”

“I like t’ have sex with you, yeah! But don't think I don't know what that was about!”

“Oh, please, Louis,” Zayn scoffs. “Yeah, I think about other people once in a while, everyone does, but never him.”

“Right.”

“I'm not even attracted to him anymore.”

This is so obviously a lie that Louis says nothing, just keeps giving him that laser-blue stare.

Zayn stands there, hot annoyance rising in his chest. “Look, it wasn't like it was that good with him, alright? We were fuckin’ teenagers, it was just us fumbling around. It wasn't like the sex you an’ me have.”

“You were in love with him, though,” Louis says.

“And I'm not now! We've both been in love with people other than each other!”

“I know. I dunno why this gets at me so much.”

“Maybe ‘cos you're bitter at Harry about other shit.”

“Cheers,” Louis says wryly. “You're probably right, honestly.”

“Does if help to know I accused him of having a coke problem in front of some old bird?”

Louis laughs in surprise. “Sorry?”

“He asked me how me ‘exhaustion’ was,” Zayn says. “In that cunty way of his, where he's like, so above it all. Anyway... I said how's your coke problem? And he shut up.”

“He doesn't really have a _coke_ problem, does he?” Louis looks concerned. “I hadn't heard that.”

“Not, like, a _problem_ , but he's been doing a lot of it,” Zayn says. “How d’you think he's got like three different careers going, partying as much as he does?”

Louis shrugs. “I mean, he's just like that.”

“Yeah. Well.” He gives an exaggerated sniff. “‘E's got a bit of help.”

They hear Mia toddling back down the stairs, and quickly shut up. She makes her way gingerly down with a piece of paper in her hand, then gives it to Louis.

He softens, looking at it, then hands it to Zayn.

It's a drawing of four figures, all holding hands.

“Is this us, lovey?” he murmurs, glancing at her.

She nods proudly.

“It's really good. The sun is purple,” Zayn points out.

“Yeah.”

“Any reason for that?”

“I like purple.”

He nods somberly. “Brilliant.”

Louis laughs. “Love, why does Amir have an X over his face?”

“‘Cos he broke my best color!”

“Hey, he's not alone up there with the Crayons, is he?” Louis says, and starts climbing the stairs. “Christ, he's probably eaten five already.”

“We good?” Zayn calls after him.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine!” he yells back distractedly.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, AUGUST 30, 2019

Zayn wakes up the next day with a throbbing hangover.

He stares up at the spinning ceiling fan, feeling nauseated and terribly guilty. Last night comes back to him in waves; he talked to his manager for a while after Louis went to bed, then he started reading.

Then David texted him, _wanna come over_?

He wasn't going to drink at all, but there were loads of people over, so he had a couple. He could stop, or he thought he could stop, but he wasn't having any fun, and everyone else was -- they were all wasted and skinny dipping -- so he had five, and then after that he couldn't stop.

He stumbled home around three and snuck upstairs, brushing his teeth in the guest bathroom until his gums bled so Louis couldn't smell the liquor on his breath. Then he slid into bed, and Louis nuzzled up against him and said in a sweet, sleepy voice, “You're comin’ to bed late…”

Zayn tried his best to sound sober when he said, “Yeah, just fuckin’ around on Twitter, lost track of time.”

Louis’ alarm goes off. He groans and hits snooze. Zayn continues lying there, his head pounding. He leans over and grabs a bottle of Tylenol off the bedside table, dry swallowing three.

“You up?” Louis murmurs.

“Yeah, babe.”

He turns to Louis, who blinks up at him, rubbing his sleepy eyes and smiling. His fringe is flopping boyishly across his forehead. Zayn feels awful, looking at him.

“What time’s our meeting?”

“Noon.”

“What's the alarm for?”

“The kids are always up around six anyway, so I figured I ought to make it a habit. You usually sleep through it.”

“Do I?” Zayn blinks hard. Three hours of sleep, or maybe two and a half. Well, he’s made do on less.

“Yeah, love.”

Zayn gazes at him. Louis gazes back, his eyes sparkling. He leans in and snogs him, stroking his bearded cheek.

“You okay?” Louis whispers when they separate.

Zayn hesitates. “I’m awake,” he says.

“Not quite the same thing.”

Zayn kisses him on the forehead.

 

*

 

The interview is a bit of a mess.

The teacher makes them wait outside for a while as she meets with another family who's gone over their time. Louis kneels in the hallway with the kids while Zayn checks out some preschool art hung up on the walls.

“Listen to me,” he says sternly to them. “No funny business. No mischief. For the next hour, you're little angels. And if you can keep it up, there's ice cream at the end. Alright?”

“Okay,” they chorus.

Zayn comes and squats behind them, resting his tattooed hands on their dark little heads. “And ‘e means that, so listen up.”

He and Louis chin nod at each other, like, _solid parenting._

Miss Krista comes out of the classroom, tailed by the parents, a pair of men who are both wearing nice, tailored linen suits without ties. One of them is old enough to have gray in his beard. Zayn feels young, tattooed and scruffy -- he looks at Louis and can tell he's feeling the same.

The couple gives them polite smiles, but also an up-and-down searching look, either like they recognize them or they’re standing in judgment of them.

Even their daughter is a perfectly groomed little angel in sailor shoes, holding both their hands as they walk away. Louis discreetly leans down and tugs Mia’s falling sock up. Zayn glances at Amir; he's recently had his hair buzzed off, which he requested after seeing a picture of Zayn with his hair buzzed off, and he's wearing stuff from DJ Khaled’s line for kids -- plus a gaudy little gold watch from Gucci. He looks like a tiny football hooligan.

“Bye, guys!” Krista calls after the posh linen-suit family. “See you tomorrow, Brigitte!”

“See you tomorrow!” Brigitte calls back to her, and her dads chuckle fondly.

Krista turns to them, and Louis nudges Mia in the back.

“Hi!” Mia exclaims, and extends her hand.

Krista shakes it, smiling. Louis and Zayn exchange a proud smile.

“We met before, Mia, do you remember me?”

“Uh-huh! I drew you a pony.”

“You did! It's hanging up on my art wall, if you want to go check out the classr --”

Mia is off into the room like she heard a starter’s pistol, her pigtails bobbing.

“And this must be Amir,” Krista says, kneeling in front of him.

Louis nudges him. “Say hi.”

“Hi,” Amir says shyly, meeting her eyes.

“What a cutie,” she says, smiling. “Little heartbreaker in the making.”

“Oh, yeah, the older neighborhood girls love him,” Louis says. “Mostly ‘cos he'll sit still for whatever they want to do with him. Same with his sister. Sometimes we just find him walking ‘round covered in glitter.”

“Aww. Are you excited to go to school, Amir?”

Amir looks like he might cry at the very thought. “No,” he says.

“Are you excited for Mia to start school?”

“No…”

“Aww, but just think, you'll get more time with your dads.”

Amir shrugs. “She comes back?”

“Hmm?”

“Of course she comes back, love.” Louis chuckles and kneels behind him, stroking his hair. “She'll come home every afternoon.”

“Oh,” Amir says, looking relieved. “Okay.”

“Did you think she was leaving forever?”

He shrugs again.

“Aww, kiddo,” Louis says gently, and picks him up with a soft groan. “He's a little anxious,” he whispers to Krista.

“School can help with that,” she assures him.

She leads them in the classroom, where Mia is perched at one of the desks with her hands folded on top of it like a tiny solicitor. It's a gorgeous room, with big windows overlooking the leafy playground and tall, wood walls.

“Someone's ready for class!” Krista exclaims. “I’ll be moving these desks, actually -- I had some older kids in here over the summer. We try to do a lot of community outreach for lower-income families.”

“That's good,” Louis says, settling at the desk next to Mia. “You give scholarships?”

Zayn sits next to him, and Krista perches on the edge of her desk. He rubs at his forehead, trying to relieve his blistering headache. Nothing is helping, not even the Oxy he snuck from Louis’ back pain stockpile.

“We try, but that's contingent on private donations, so it varies from year to year. Wanna get started?”

“Sure,” Zayn says.

“I've obviously already interviewed Louis about Mia, so Mia, if you want to go ahead and play with your brother, I'll ask you guys some questions about Amir.”

Amir glances up from where he's lingering beside Louis, clinging to his shirttail. Mia slips out of her desk and takes him by the hand, leading him over to the big bin of toys in the corner.

“They're very sweet together,” Krista says, smiling.

“Most of the time,” Louis says with a chuckle.

“How far apart are they?”

“Fifteen months.”

“Oh!” Krista leans forward, and her blouse slips a bit. Zayn stares at the necklace pooling in her cleavage. Not his type, really, but she's got nice breasts. “That explains the closeness.”

“Right,” Zayn says, because he feels like he ought to contribute somehow. He closes his eyes for just a moment. The headache is like an ice pick in his temple.

“So, ready for the questions? They're similar to our earlier conversation, Louis.”

“I'm game,” Louis says.

“First one is, describe Amir to me in three adjectives,” she says, looking between them.

Zayn finds he can barely remember any adjectives. Everything about reality is a dull throbbing mess.

“Uh,” Louis says. “Shy. Sweet. What's the word for -- he's, like, a fast learner. Picks things up quickly. He watches a lot, and I don't even realize he's watching, and then he'll do something I never taught him how to do.”

Krista writes this down. “Observant?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay. How would you characterize your parenting style?”

Zayn looks helplessly to Louis.

“Well,” Louis says, looking back at him and rubbing at his beard. “We try to be compassionate and patient. We try to play with them a lot, get them out and about with kids their age, just let them be kids, kinda. I’m not big on screens. I think they're way too young.”

Zayn smiles to himself. Louis is often on a tear about iPads. “When’d we all decide to give our kids fuckin’ iPads? I used to play with a stick!”

She nods. “Zayn?”

He shifts in his chair. “Ah… Read to ‘em a lot. ‘Specially Mia.”

“Right, Louis told me she's reading some already. _Very_ impressive, at three.”

“She's really insistent,” Zayn says, and laughs fondly. “Every time I'm reading she like, snuggles up under me arm and she makes me start reading out loud. Even shit -- even stuff that's way over her head, like. But she listens.”

Krista writes this down, too. “And what would you say are Amir’s strengths and weaknesses?”

“Oh,” Louis says. “I dunno.” He looks over at the kids, as if he's worried about offending him. “Uhh… like we said, shy and anxious. He clings on me a lot, always has. He's like a kangaroo baby. But he's wicked smart. He's full of these little -- like I said, observant. He asked me the other day, somethin’ like, about how the housekeeper does the laundry. And it was something I'd never noticed, but he watches everything. He's like our little owl.”

“My boy’s _wicked smaht_ ,” Zayn says in a bad Boston accent, and Louis starts laughing.

“He'll make friends, if he's peeled off Mia,” he continues. “If he's alone, he does it out of necessity. And everybody likes him, he's a sweet kid. He's just very bonded to her, and me. Me and Zayn, of course, but me moreso.”

Someone opens the classroom door. “Krista,” an older woman whispers, leaning on the handle. “You have a call in the front office.”

“Oh, I bet it's Oscar’s parents,” she says. “I'm so sorry, guys, excuse me one moment.”

When she's gone, Zayn says, “Who names their kid Oscar?”

Louis laughs. “Hey, mate… is something wrong? You're sort of weird.”

Zayn stares down at the desk. It's got a bit of graffiti on it. Someone drew a penis. He'd point it out to Louis, but he doesn't sound like he's in the right mood.

“Yeah,” he says, without meaning to, and swallows.

“What’s up?” Louis says.

Zayn thinks he probably already knows. Stupid married telepathy. Stupid bus one telepathy.

“I'm hanging,” he whispers.

Louis’ face falls in crushing disappointment. What Zayn wouldn't give to be able to stop making him make that face. “Christ… you went out last night?”

“Down the road to David’s.”

“And you drank.”

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

“Way too much. Completely pissed. I thought I could stop at a couple.”

Louis buries his face in his hands. “Zayn, you promised me,” he says in a little voice.

The kids have gone quiet. Zayn glances over at them and sees they're looking.

“Babes, shh, we can talk later,” he whispers.

“You _lied_ to me, you said you were up late on Twitter!”

“I didn't want to upset you.”

“God…”

“Louis, please, it was just a little slip, just a -- kids, go ahead and play, we’re having a bit of grown-up talk.”

Mia blinks at him, but obediently turns back to the dollhouse.

“Oops,” Amir murmurs.

Louis lifts his head and turns to them. “What oops? You break something?”

“No,” Mia says quickly.

“Kids,” Louis says in his warning voice. “If I come over there…”

There's a soft clatter. Zayn glances up; it looks like the dollhouse is caving in on itself.

“Nothing!” Mia yells.

Louis gets up and goes over to them. Zayn rests his elbow on the desk and massages his forehead.

“You snapped a hinge,” Louis informs them.

“Da-addy,” she whines.

“Alright,” he mutters, “let’s see if we can rig this to look okay... Y’know, the next kid who touches this is gonna take the blame.”

“Okay,” Mia says brightly.

“That's not a good thing!”

“Just hurry, she's gonna come back,” Zayn says, digging his thumbs into the twitching pressure point under his brow bone.

“I'm working on it… Alright, got it. Don't touch it,” Louis says sternly. “Play with anythin’ else.”

He comes back over and settles back in the desk, his arms folded, not looking at Zayn.

“Babe,” Zayn whispers to him. “I'm sorry.”

“We'll talk about it later.”

“At least try to look less pissed off.”

“Why would I be pissed off?” Louis hisses, still not looking at him. “Cos me husband’s a drunk who lies to me and shows up hungover to our preschool interview?”

“Can you not call me a _drunk_ in front of our fuckin’ kids?”

Krista suddenly comes back in the room, clearing her throat in a way that indicates she probably heard that.

“Sorry about that,” she says cheerily.

“No worries,” Louis tells her.

“So…” She picks her notebook back up. “Is it just the four of you at home? Or are there any live-in caretakers we should be aware of?”

“Just us.” Louis shifts in his seat. “Little nuclear family. We have a nanny, she's not full-time.”

“Okay. You both work, right?”

They glance at each other.

“Intermittently,” Louis says.

“I've got a few small projects going, nothing major,” Zayn says.

“And I'm not doing much of anything right now.”

“We’re both home a lot,” Zayn says, to wrap it up.

“How have you prepared Amir for school?”

“Uhh,” Louis says. “Been teaching him to share… manners with other kids, shit like that -- stuff like that, sorry. Numbers, colors, alphabet.”

“Good, good!” She smiles. “Do you ever punish him?”

Zayn’s head continues to pound. He zones out, staring into Krista’s cleavage.

“Yeah, sure,” Louis says.

“How?”

“Oh, I dunno. He's hardly ever misbehaved --”

There's a very loud clatter. They all turn. The dollhouse has given up the ghost and scattered parts across the floor. Mia and Amir turn, looking stricken and then smiling innocently.

Louis sighs. “Kids…”

“Oh, no harm done,” Krista says, looking over at them. “Well, a little bit of harm done. Oh boy.”

“We didn't do it,” Mia exclaims.

“Mia, don't lie,” Louis says.

Mia elbows Amir.

“Didn't,” he chimes.

“Mia!”

She looks at them impudently. Louis turns back to Krista.

“They're normally better,” he lies.

Krista smiles tersely.

“C'mere.” The kids don't move, at first, and Louis glares daggers at them. “C’mere!”

Amir returns to his side immediately, and Louis picks him up. Mia dawdles her way over, then climbs up onto the chair next to him with a little sigh.

“Well, there you go,” Louis says tiredly. “Bit of a showcase for you.”

Amir reaches up to touch his beard. Louis smiles at him.

“The nice thing is,” Krista says, “with them separated by a grade, no chance of them teaming up for mischief at school, right?”

“Ri-ight.”

 

*

 

As they're getting ready to leave, Louis says to her, “So, Amir’s in?”

Krista hesitates.

“Before you answer, I've got a question,” Louis says, putting a hand up. “How much to sponsor a kid’s scholarship to go here?”

She blinks at him. “Um, the scholarship covers our preschool and kindergarten programs and summer camp, so thirty thousand in total.”

Louis gets his checkbook out of his jeans’ arse pocket.

“Mr. Tomlinson --” She looks flustered.

He writes out a check, rips it free and hands it to her. “Sponsor two.”

“This is very generous,” she says, taking it. “I’m sure we will, well, take this into consideration. But we'd love to have him, if it all works out.”

Louis winks at her. “Brilliant.”

He takes the kids by the hands and leads them out into the car park. Zayn lags behind, putting his sunglasses on. The sun is brutally bright.

“Clever,” he calls after him.

“I was gonna do that anyway,” Louis calls back.

“Is there ice cream, Daddy?” Mia says.

“Maybe. I have to think about it.”

“Aww…”

“You lied!”

“You told me to!”

“Not to the teacher’s face, after you got caught! Shit,” Louis mutters, “I reckon this sort of is my fault, innit? Gave you mixed signals. Alright, yeah, let's get ice cream.”

“Yay!”

 

*

 

When they get back, Louis asks Zayn to take the kids to their afternoon play date and heads upstairs. Zayn watches him retreat, then takes one kid in each hand and walks them down the road to the Sherrods' house.

He likes taking walks with them. Their neighborhood is gorgeous, lush and private and sprawling, and they're so little that they’re still fascinated by nearly everything -- every bird in the trees, every puddle they pass.

The parents aren't even there -- just their nanny, Penelope, who lets him in with a polite smile and goes to fetch the twins.

Zayn kneels to hug them goodbye. “Have fun with Zack and Emma, yeah? Play nice.”

“Is Daddy mad?” Mia says.

“Who, Louis? At you two? No, no.”

“No,” she says. “Mad at you?”

“No, love.” He inhales. “Everything’s alright.”

Amir studies him in watchful silence. Zayn guiltily avoids his gaze.

“Go, have fun, play.” He nudges them. “Go.”

 

*

 

Zayn climbs the stairs in silent darkness. With every step, he feels foreboding rise in his chest, until he's at the top and sick with anxiety.

Louis isn't in the bedroom. Zayn goes into their cavernous bathroom to find him perched on the marble ledge that runs next to the tub, where they keep the magazines and bath toys and things. He's got the window cracked, and he's chain-smoking.

He looks at Zayn with a flat expression. “Hey. See them off alright?”

“Yeah.”

He climbs over the tub and sits next to Louis, who offers him the pack. Zayn takes one and lights it.

“Look,” he says, after they've smoked in silence for a while, “I dunno what t’ tell you. It just sort of happened.”

“That doesn't make me feel good, to hear you say shit like it just happened.”

“What d'you want from me?”

Louis flicks his ash into the tub. “To be able to trust you,” he mutters.

“That’s on you. You won't trust me, you refuse to.”

“You keep eroding my trust with shit like this!”

“You're always waitin’, watching, thinking I'm gonna cheat, thinking I'm gonna leave --”

"D'you get it, though -- when you hide your drinking from me, I can read you, but all I know is you're hiding _something_? And I'm gonna assume the worst?”

“Stop assuming the worst of me, then!” he cries, pained. “Fuck!”

“I don't! I never have! I’m just tired,” Louis says, his voice cracking. “Aren't you tired?”

“I'll get help,” Zayn swears. “I'll get -- obviously, I can't manage it on my own. I'll talk to somebody. This won't happen again.”

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Good.”

Zayn kisses him roughly on the cheek.

"D'you know where Mia's birth certificate is?" Louis says, slipping off the ledge, going over and tossing his cigarette butt into the trash. "Our immigration lawyer needs it. I want to try to get her fully squared away before she starts kindergarten next year."

"It's in the basement safe, innit? Or the safe in the study?"

Louis nods, hands on his hips. "I think the second one, yeah." 

"Should've had her in America," Zayn says. 

"Hindsight's twenty-twenty."

Zayn rubs his palms together. "We could move back, if you want," he says, with a wild thought in his head that if he could get away from the scene here, and if he could get Louis back home, to the rain and football matches and Tesco's, that things might get better between them. Maybe he could really stop drinking.

But Louis shakes his his head. "Nah, we've got a life here," he mutters. "And it's best for our careers."

"Yeah."

 

NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 13, 2019

Liam doesn't even know if he’ll be there, but he stands there knocking on Harry’s hotel room door, anyway.

He takes a while to answer, but then he's opening it and peering out, a few days growth of stubble on his cheeks. He's wearing a garnet silk bathrobe, boxers and nothing else.

“Hey-y,” Harry says in his low voice, and he smiles. “You're a surprise. Thought you were Jeff.”

Liam inhales. “Yeah, you mentioned you were in town and wanted to meet up, so… Why Jeff?”

Harry rubs a knuckle against the bridge of his nose. “Sort of in hiding this week. Not talking to anyone, really. I'm having one of those -- what d’you call ‘ems? Where you don't do anything?”

Liam blinks at him. “A break?”

Harry snaps his fingers and nods. “That's the ticket. Hey, come in.”

This suite is even nicer than his one at the Plaza had been. The ceilings are high and lofty; there's an antique-looking tea cart in the sitting room, next to the TV. Harry starts fixing him a cuppa the way he likes it.

Liam takes a seat on the sofa. Harry’s got _Love Actually_ paused on the TV.

“So,” Harry calls. “You okay?”

Liam clears his throat, beginning to bounce his leg. “Sure, yeah. No, I mean. No, I'm not.”

Heat prickles at the backs of his eyes, but he's not going to cry.

Harry brings the tea over and pushes the hot mug into his hands. “Drink.”

Liam does, then inhales and rubs at his forehead.

“Ceci and I are trying a separation,” he says, feeling deeply nauseated as he says the words. He's only said them to a handful of other people.

“Oh, Payno. Fuck.” Harry rubs his back very hard. “Fuck. I'm so sorry.”

“It's been a while coming,” Liam mutters, his face in his hands. “I just feel like such a fucking failure. It's the worst feeling in the world. I've done --” His voice cracks. “I've tried so hard to hold onto it, I've done everything, we went to counseling, I tried --"

“Liam, Liam, I’m sure you did everything you could, it hadn't been working for a while --”

Liam tries to focus on the soothing feel of Harry’s hand on his back, rubbing in gentle circles.

“I'm a fuck-up,” he mutters, grief-stricken. “I let my daughter down.”

“You didn't. You didn't, okay? Looky, hey, I've got ice cream. I'm eating ice cream for like the first time in five years. You want ice cream?”

Liam lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I could go for some ice cream.”

“Okay.” Harry pats him one last time, then leans over and kisses him on the head. “Hey, you didn't do anything wrong,” he says sternly. “She's the one who's been resisting everything you tried, she’s the one who didn't listen to you when you said you needed spend more time together and took a lead part that had her out of the house ten hours a day almost every day. Okay?”

“I want to kill Lin-Manuel Miranda,” Liam moans into his hand. “I don't really, ‘cos I’ve met him, he's very nice, but Jesus Christ.”

“Honestly,” Harry says as he walks away to the kitchenette, “I saw that show and I didn't even know what the fuck was going on. Why did Eleanor Plantagenet have an iPhone?”

Liam laughs some more, rubbing at his eyes. “Ah, yeah, I kinda felt the same.”

Harry returns, hands him a bowl of ice cream and tousles his hair. “Movie?”

“Movie.”

He settles beside Liam and turns _Love Actually_ back on.

They sit in quiet for a while, Liam trying to focus on Hugh Grant dancing to tune out his misery, pounding back his mug of tea.

After a while, Harry clears his throat and says, “Look… you gave it your all, you got a beautiful kid out of it… you shouldn't feel like a failure. That's the one thing you shouldn't feel like.”

Liam inhales. His is vision swimming with tears. “Okay.”

“Do you believe me, though?” Harry pauses the movie and looks over at him. “You sound like you don't.”

He tries to swallow over the painful lump in his throat and shakes his head, blinking. “You don't get it,” he says hoarsely. “You haven't been married. I'm not saying that in a nasty way. You're probably smarter than me for it. But I took vows, mate. You were there, you heard me. I said I'd cherish and protect her for the rest of my life.”

“It doesn't always go that way,” Harry says. “You're only human. So’s she.”

“I should've been better than human. I’d do anything for Sunday, I’d _die_ for her, and I can't even make it work with her mum for more than a couple years.”

“Liam, having divorced parents doesn't ruin your life, trust me. She'll be perfectly fine. You and Ceci love her dearly.”

“I know…”

Harry reaches over and takes his hand, squeezing it.

“Sorry I'm like, starkers, here,” he says with a grin, pulling his robe closed.

“Yeah, why don't you just get your willy out? Flop it right on your leg, there.”

Harry laughs, his white teeth flashing. “Hey, if that'll make you feel better.”

Liam looks down at their clasped hands, chuckling.

 

*

 

Two hours later, they're lying on the floor drunk and full of ice cream.

“Did you know,” Harry slurs, “I lost my virgininny -- my virginity to Zayn?”

“Nooo,” Liam exclaims, sitting up on his elbow. “Noo, I thought -- wasn't there that girl you slept with on our first tour? I thought there were a couple girls!”

“I li-ied,” Harry says wanly. “To cover my arse. I was embarrassed… _he_ wasn't a virgin.”

“Nobody’d have judged you, mate.”

“He was very nice about it,” Harry says, and drains the last of the wine bottle. “Gentle, sweet. Near on a decade ago, that was...”

He tosses the empty across the plush carpet.

“Feels like a century ago,” Liam mutters. “D’you, like… miss the band?”

“At times. Yeah. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Do you?”

“All the time.”

“I didn't know.” He sounds a bit guilty.

“I don't even get to see Louis, anymore,” Liam mutters. “There's Zayn, obviously. And Ceci always said the whole thing didn't bother her, but after I told her, she started in with these little digs. Started accusing me of rebounding on her, during fights. She never mentioned him by name, but…”

“Did you?” Harry says quietly. “Rebound on her?”

“Oh, I dunno. Did I rebound on Sophia with Louis? Who knows? I fall in love fast, I always have.” Liam lies back down, his head spinning from the wine. “God, I'm so sad. I've never felt this sad before. I feel like such a fuckin’ failure.”

“You're not a failure! If you'd driven her away, you'd be a failure.”

“Didn't I?” Liam lets out a staccato, high-pitched laugh. “Didn't I, though?”

“Seems like she's just as responsible for this, if not more.”

“I dunno, I dunno… God, I was just totally spinning after the tour ended like it did, an’ I was thrilled to meet this nice girl, she was so cool, from a totally different set -- y'know, cultured. We went to all these Broadway parties, and we used to walk around New York at night talking about our lives and our dreams, and it was so nice, it was like being in a movie all the time. We were so in love so fast. And I wanted a family so much, and she did too, and…” He snaps his fingers. “Bing bang.”

Harry's quiet for a while, then says, “Did you think -- was there a while, before Louis left the tour, where you thought you'd end up with him? Raise Zayn’s baby with him?”

“Oh, God,” Liam groans, his heart twisting. “Maybe. Not really. I dunno. As a fantasy, yeah. But I always thought him and Zayn should make a go of it. I'm happy they did. It was just really hard. I was sick over him. I did some stupid, shitty things… should've left well enough alone. I didn't know, I didn't have a kid of my own yet. It was still like a game to me, but it was dead serious to them.”

“Maybe if you'd have pressed harder you'd have done him a favor,” Harry mutters. “Heard Zayn's got a nasty drinking problem now.”

Liam’s heart twists. “I heard that too.” He swallows, then adds: “I dunno. I feel for him. Been doing a bit of drinking myself lately.”

Harry studies him, but he doesn't volunteer any more than that.

“I'm worried about both of them,” Harry mutters. “I don't even know why. Not like we're all best pals.”

“I miss Tommo,” Liam admits. “Talk to him maybe once a month, max. But I think about him.”

Harry army crawls across the carpet to him. Liam watches him, bleary-eyed, wondering what he's doing.

He leans over Liam and kisses him, open-mouthed. His lips are very soft. Liam accepts the kiss, surprised and curious. There's no real spark, just an easy mutual comfort.

They separate. Liam blinks at him. Harry grins.

“What was that for?”

“Trying to get the taste of Louis out of your mouth,” he says. “It work?”

“Sort of.”

“Heyy,” Harry cheers.

“I'm still a separated sad-sack who misses my wife, mate.”

“Well, you eat the elephant one bite at a time, yeah?”

“Your lips taste so good,” Liam says. “What the hell is that?”

Harry kisses him again. They sort of get to snogging, rubbing against each other, and Liam even reaches up to touch his face, but right before the point of no return Harry pulls back and says low in his throat, “Sugar scrub.”

“Oh,” Liam breathes, willing his cock to remain at ease. “You're a bad man, you know that?”

Harry’s eyes twinkle. “Uh-huh.”

“Don't you have supermodels to be snogging?”

“Supermodels don't blush as cute as you,” he says, stroking Liam’s cheek.

“ _Bad_ ,” Liam exclaims with a giggle.

“I wasn't gonna let anything happen!” He grins laconically, dimples flashing. “I've sworn off married men.”

“You know,” Liam says, “Zayn and Louis, like -- maybe they were s’posed to end up together.”

Harry sighs.

“I'm trying to make you feel better!”

“Oh, Liam, you don't need to. I don't even care.”

“They seem like they really love each other,” Liam murmurs wistfully. “That's all I mean.”

“I’m sure they do.”

“It's okay to be a bit heartbroken over him,” he says. “You know that, right?”

“I’m not.” Harry swallows and tips his head back, throwing the sharp line of his jaw into relief. “That would be really stupid.”

“Sometimes the stupid things are the true ones.”

“Not for me,” he says. “I’ve decided not to have stupid feelings anymore.”

“I'm not sure it works like that.”

“I've decided that it does.”

Liam chuckles, and Harry winks at him.

“You know, it’s funny,” he adds, “when me and Zayn were together, Louis was like, _the_ person I confided in. I remember the first time I slept with him, I woke Louis up and told him... the next morning, we sat on the hotel balcony and drank tea, and talked about it.” He breaks off, squinting into middle distance. “I haven't thought about that in years.”

“I’m sorry, mate.”

“Christ, don't be sorry.” Harry shakes his head. “I just wish I could, like -- I think Louis thinks I hate him, and I don't, at all. It's just -- he blindsided us with like -- oh, by the way, I've been sleeping with Zayn for months now, and by the way, I'm pregnant with his kid and I'm keeping it, and by the way, I'm sick and we have to cancel the tour after all. By the way, I’m pregnant again, and we're married. And I feel like shit for rowing with him at that meeting, but I just can't help it, when I'm around him anymore I turn into this, like -- cunt, I turn into a cunt, don't I? Like some -- like I'm Mrs. Havisham.” He laughs bitterly. “Like I haven't been with, I dunno, four dozen people since Zayn, people who I've had way more in common with --”

“You've been with _four dozen_ people?”

Harry knits his brow. “Don't slut-shame me! I'm a friendly person!”

“Well, so am I, and I've been with eight and a half!”

“Half?”

“I gave this bloke head and then fell asleep before anything else happened. I was pretty drunk. Anyway…”

“It's just really not like me to not be able to let things go, especially something this stupid.”

“I know,” Liam murmurs.

“I just don't understand them, or him.” He shrugs. “How they just… _do_ things. And I -- I dunno. It was a million years ago, but Louis was my best mate, and Zayn was the first person I was ever in love with. And I sort of thought -- and now I don't even know Zayn. And Louis thinks I hate him, I look down on him and think he's trash. And I can't even stand being around him long enough to tell him how wrong he is. And I couldn't even be angry at him for what happened, because who can be angry at someone in that situation? It's not allowed, it looks awful. And I didn’t even want to be, it makes me feel like I was this big mean stomping bully, lording my success everywhere, and poor little pregnant Louis crying in the corner.”

“That's not how it was, Haz.”

“That's how he feels,” Harry mutters. “You heard him --” He puts on a high-pitched voice. “ _Harry, you've got everything, can't I have Zayn?_ Have you ever heard a bigger guilt trip in your fucking life… Like I'm not even allowed to have _feelings_ anymore, I've been cut off.”

“Speaking of that, I think you've had enough wine.”

Harry laughs and rubs at his eyes. “Sorry. I'm totally monopolizing. Like you care about this stupid ancient drama with what you've got going on... It's just you're literally the only person on earth I can talk to about this. Even Niall doesn't get it... I'm sorry, anyway.”

“It's alright,” Liam assures him. “I came over ‘cos I knew you could take my mind off it, and you've done that, so.”

They're quiet for a moment.

“I just wish everything would slow down,” Harry says softly.

“God, me too.” Liam takes a long breath. “I've always wished that… I thought, with Ceci, that like -- I kept thinking I had all the time in the world to fix it, and I just needed to keep after it, but it kept getting worse and worse. Like -- I always think things are in a bubble.” He gestures. “And I’m the only one making decisions, you know? Like everyone else is waiting for me. But they're not. It's game time, ball’s in play. Everyone's making their own decisions. The world's going along without you.”

“Right,” Harry says. “Exactly.”

“ _The world moves on_ ,” Liam intones in a falsetto, “ _another day, another drama_ …”

Harry starts laughing. “I'll kill you dead.”

“ _But not for me, all I think about is karma_ \--”

Harry picks up a pillow and gently presses it to his face.

“Oh,” Liam exclaims, his voice muffled, “it was Mr Styles, in the drawing room, with the throw pillow. First he snogs me, then he murders me.”

“Glad to see you're in a better mood.”

“Just giddy from the lack of oxygen.”

 

LONDON, FEBRUARY 18, 2020

“You know,” Zayn says, looking through the rain-drizzled window out over the dark city as they roll down the A1, “I'm startin’ to feel sorta cursed, with regards to the Brits.”

“Noo, you’ve won a couple, haven't you?”

Zayn runs his knuckles along the glass. “Nah. Not one since One Direction.”

“They do favor groups,” Louis says, glancing over at him, then looking back at the road.

“Ahh,” Zayn says. “Yeah. They do.”

Without any 2019 album, he'd been nominated for a standalone single he released last June with Zendaya to raise money for Syrian refugees, and the corresponding video that they put out last fall. He didn't win either category.

Little Mix, still going strong, took home two. They had to sit there awkwardly through Perrie’s speech as the people at their table politely avoided eye contact with them. Louis had never felt more like a dirty mistress in his life. And then Liam won one, and it felt like everyone in the entire ballroom was avoiding eye contact with them.

“This is why I don't come to the Brits,” Zayn whispered in his ear, then bit his earlobe, a moment which has already been made into a GIF and circulated widely on Twitter.

Liam wasn't even there to accept his award in person. He's been totally AWOL lately. Niall was there accompanying Ellie, and in the brief moment they got together, he told Louis that Liam’s busy trying to work things out with his wife. But when Louis texted him to say congrats and hi, all he got was a cheery platitude about taking some time away to focus on his daughter. No mention of marital troubles.

 

*

 

When they arrive to pick the kids up from Zayn’s parents, Mia darts out to greet them. Louis picks her up and swings her around, kissing her. “Hi babydoll.”

“Did Daddy win?” she exclaims.

“No,” Zayn says, coming over and kissing her on the cheek. “Your poor dad’s a loser.”

“A handsome loser,” Louis intones, settling Mia on his hip and heading up to the house. “Who wins loads of awards in America.”

Zayn slips his hand over Louis’ lower back, shepherding him across the damp lawn.

Inside, Amir greets them with his hands covered in flour, holding them up like a surgeon going into the OR.

“What's up, sonny?” Zayn says to him. “What you making?”

“Pie with Nan,” Amir says.

“Meat or fruit?”

Amir blinks at him. “... Pie?”

Chuckling, Zayn picks him up. “Hey mum!”

“Yeah!” Trisha calls from the kitchen.

“What you making!”

“Fatayer!”

“That's what I was hopin’ she _wouldn't_ say,” Louis mutters. “I want dessert.”

“I told you we should've stopped at Greggs.”

They find her in the bright, warm kitchen, peeking in the oven.

“Mum, you'll let the heat out,” Zayn says. “Here's your sous chef back.”

“I always like to check on it,” Trisha says, turning around with a smile. “It’ll burn the second you're not looking, you know.”

“Daddy’s a loser,” Mia announces to no one in particular. She sounds like Louis when she says it. _Daddy’s a loo-sah!_

Zayn winces at this and sets Amir on the floor. He toddles off into the sitting room, where they can hear the TV going. Yaser must be watching a documentary.

“Oh, no!” Trisha exclaims. “In both categories? They're officially stiffing you, I think.”

“Ah, it ain't that deep.”

“You did say you're cursed,” Louis points out, setting Mia down as his lower back begins to complain. She dashes off after her brother.

“Yeah, but I don't think there's any big conspiracy.”

“Who put the curse on, then?”

Zayn shrugs.

“Just one of those general, happenstance curses,” Louis says.

“Right,” he says, laughing.

“You put on a haunted amulet or summat.”

“I broke a music box with a ghost in it.”

Trisha laughs. “So, no afterparties? We thought we might not see you ‘til late.”

“Nah,” Zayn says. “Decided it wouldn't be smart. Still sober.”

Trisha nods. “Good.”

He glances over at Louis, clearly trying to appear nonchalant. “How long’s it been?”

“Six months, now.” _Six months. Four days. Two hours._

“So you're off to Doncaster first thing tomorrow?” she says, peeking in the oven again.

“Yeah, then flying home. Louis has a meeting.”

“Finally talking album two,” Louis says, looking down at his fingers and playing with his wedding band.

“Oh, that's wonderful!” Trisha turns and beams at him.

“Yeah, the sales for the first weren't what I wanted out of the gate, but they've been properly steady, so I actually did better than I thought… anyway, the label won't leave me alone now, so.”

“That's me husband,” Zayn says with a smile. “Mister sleeper hit darkhorse, comin’ from behind.”

“That's me pop punk band, Sleeper Hit Darkhorse.”

“Startin’ a new band, are we?”

“Yeah, you wanna be in it?”

“No more bands,” Zayn says. “I’ll be a feature, but no more bands.”

“Don't want to start a family band? Get Amir rapping?”

Zayn smiles at him.

 

LOS ANGELES, FEBRUARY 22, 2020

Dr. Clark sees Zayn once every two weeks now, and he's been bothering Louis since Christmas to come by for a chat.

Zayn is monosyllabic about this: “Yeah, think he just wants to ask you some things, I dunno.” So Louis appears in his office doorway at noon on a Tuesday with no particular idea what he's doing there, carrying a sniffly Amir.

“Hi there,” he says, knocking. Clark’s got a fancy wood door with a gold nameplate: DR. MILLARD P. CLARK, M.D.

Clark glances up from his laptop and smiles, beckoning him in. “Hi, Louis, great to see you, come on in.”

“Sorry I’ve brought company, here… he's got a cold, he refuses to be away from me.”

“That's perfectly alright,” Clark says.

“I've got some of his toys and things, if there's a corner I can stick him in.”

“Yeah, right over here's fine.”

Louis spreads out a blanket for Amir and his things. Amir sits there sort of listless, blinking sleepily with his long eyelashes.

He's dribbling snot on himself, so Louis holds a Kleenex to his nose. “Blow your nose.”

Amir gives him a lazy snuffle.

“No, _really_ blow… Thattaboy.” He tousles his hair, then gets up and returns to Clark, who's still smiling, his light eyes peering over his little glasses.

“So,” he says. “Want to get started?”

Louis settles into the chair across from him, folding his arms. “Yeah, ready when you are, mate.”

“What I've come to realize from my sessions with Zayn…” He clasps his hands. “Is just how significant his relationship with you is to both his illness and his recovery.”

Louis nods, trying not to smile. “That one took you six months? I am married to him.”

Clark gives him a courteous laugh. “No, I knew you were hugely significant to his life, but there are some specific issues he's working through that I’d like to discuss with you.”

“What about confidentiality?”

“He waived it,” Clark assures him. “I think his exact words were, ‘Yeah, whatever, tell Louis whatever you want.’”

“Sounds like him.”

“I’m trying to ease him along,” he continues. “He's a little therapy resistant, as I'm sure you know.”

“Ohh, yeah.”

“I think he’s struggling with generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder, postnatal depression,” Clark says, studying his notes, “and, most key, bipolar disorder type two.”

Louis sits, stunned. “Bipolar?”

“Yes. I'm not sure if you know what type two entails --”

“Nah, no idea.”

“Well, it’s generally absent of full-blown manic episodes. It's more frequent and lengthy episodes of depression, interspersed with hypomania, which is an elevated mood state of disinhibition. It happens over the course of anywhere from days to months on end, if untreated. People become…” He gestures, pursuing his lips. “More charismatic, creative, intense, talkative. There's a decreased need for sleep, there's hypersexuality, increased irritability. They might do things impulsively, change their appearance, make life-altering decisions… They may depersonalize, feel like they're outside of their bodies. Has Zayn experienced that kind of mood state, to your knowledge?”

Louis stares at him. “That's like… well, yeah. But -- we’re performers, you know? None of that's unheard of. _I'm_ like that, sometimes.”

“It's more of a characteristic confluence of those symptoms, consistently over the course of a period longer than four days.”

Louis looks down at his hands. “Bipolar,” he mutters.

“Two is a less severe diagnosis than bipolar one, which you may be more familiar with.”

He swallows. “Still.”

“This diagnosis should be a comfort,” Clark says. “It explains a lot. Alcohol dependence is twice as common in bipolar depression as it is in unipolar depression.”

“So,” Louis says. “When my husband comes home in a good mood, all chatty and charming and happy to see me, and wants to have s --” He glances over at Amir, who's quietly putting Legos together. “Wants to make love all night, you're saying it's ‘cos he's got _mania_ , not ‘cos he loves me.”

“Hypomania. No, that's not what I'm saying.” Clark clears his throat. “I do think it's interesting that that's your immediate reaction.”

Louis laughs hollowly. “Interesting?”

“Zayn mentioned you're often insecure in your relationship.”

Amir toddles over, then. “Daddy,” he says pitifully, trying to crawl into Louis’ lap. Louis lifts him up and wraps his arms around him. He digs in his pocket for another Kleenex and wipes Amir’s nose again.

“Sorry,” Louis says to Clark, who flaps his hand in understanding.

He tries to put him back down, but Amir clings to him like a little monkey.

“Amir…”

“No, not down,” he says anxiously.

Clark observes them. “Is he always this reluctant to separate?”

“Don't,” Louis snaps. “Stop that. He's three years old, there's nothing wrong with him."

“Just an innocent question. Did you nurse him?”

“No, I didn't fuckin’ nurse him.”

“Just because that can contribute to separation anxiety.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Louis says, exasperated. “Amir… Can Daddy put you down, please?”

“No, no thank you.”

“If you want to take a few minutes…” Clark offers.

Louis shakes his head, scoops Amir up and goes to deposit him back in the corner. “Just a little longer, alright, lovey? I'm right over here.”

He whines, but gives up on it after half a minute and goes back to playing. Louis returns to Clark again, folding his arms tight across his chest. His watchband painfully snags his arm hair, but he doesn't react.

“One thing I hear from Zayn very consistently is that he wishes you trusted him more,” Clark says. “I’m not saying this to suggest you should act differently toward him. I just wanted you to be aware, in case that's something he hasn't discussed with you. He seems hung up on the issue.”

“He discusses it with me plenty, but it's a bit hard to completely trust him,” Louis says.

Clark nods. “I understand.”

“I don't blame him for it. I know he's sick, I know it's not who he really is. ‘Cos I knew him before. Get it? I've known him since he was seventeen.”

“I get it,” Clark says, with a little smile. “I defer to you, on the history of Zayn.”

“It's just, like -- fame and all this other shit, it's brought so much bad and toxic garbage into our life. I don't even know if I believe you he's bipolar, ‘cos this shit fucks with your head so much.”

“Well,” Clark says, with an indulgent smile. “I've treated a lot of celebrities, and I'm still confident in my diagnosis, but please continue.”

“I dunno. I dunno how he's gonna lie to me about his drinking over and over and then complain about me not trusting him. ‘Least he's never cheated on me, as far’s I know.”

“See, that's interesting, though,” Clark says. “You say ‘as far as I know’. Why not just take him at his word?”

Louis shrugs. “He lies about his drinking.”

“Do you think the two are related?”

“I'm just saying, he lies about one thing.”

“I wonder if in your eyes, the compulsivity of his drinking is similar to the compulsivity of his past cheating.”

“Huh.”

“Think about it,” Clark says. “It's something he indulges in against the wishes of his partner, he regrets it immediately, he apologizes profusely, and then he does it again. And you can't understand why he doesn't just stop.”

This actually makes a lot of sense to Louis, but he shrugs.

“Look, I don't want to sit here and analyze you,” Clark says. “I'm not your therapist, it wouldn't be appropriate. But a lack of trust in a marriage is a really serious issue. It leaches away at the foundation of your relationship, it affects every aspect of your life together.”

Louis shrugs. “I trust him with the kids.”

“But you don't trust him with your heart.”

“Look, I love my husband, mate.”

“I don't doubt that.”

“It's been hard,” Louis mutters, his voice getting scratchy. He looks down at his feet, picking at a bit of peeling rubber on his high-top. “Like… just dealing with this. When we have our good times, they're properly good. When we have our good times, I remember how crazy about him I am. But it's like a merry-go-round. And in the bad times when we're fighting, I feel really alone, and I have to worry about the kids, like, how much they see, all that…” He scratches as his stubbly cheek. “It's been loads better, lately, since he's been sober, but I’m afraid that won't last.”

Clark studies him. “Why?”

“It didn't last time. He fell off the wagon.”

“That's true, but he wasn't under a doctor's care at that point. He's made marked progress with me, Louis.”

“I know. I'm really happy about that. I just, ahh…” He inhales and drops his voice. “Look, we got married young, and we got married ‘cos of the kids, ‘cos I got pregnant, unplanned, for a second time, and he -- he did right by me. I just. Y’know.”

“Zayn’s said he feels like he's living in the shadow of your father, sometimes.”

Louis laughs wanly and shrugs again. “Maybe. Not really. I dunno. I do worry about him leaving me. He already left me, once. We were dating, in the band, and when ‘e left the band, he abandoned me -- I was pregnant, he didn't know that, but I was. And he likes to leave the house when we fight, just walk away, an’ that scares me silly.”

He finds his eyes are getting hot. He blinks hard.

“It's entirely understandable that you'd feel vulnerable and insecure,” Clark says kindly. “And like I said, this isn't a ruse for me to analyze you, personally, so I'm sorry if we went a little close to home.”

“I'm sure you'd have plenty of material to work with, if you did,” Louis cracks.

“Have you considered getting into therapy, yourself?”

“A couple times,” he admits.

“What stops you?”

“Dunno.”

“It could be beneficial to have someone with which to discuss your issues with Zayn, among other things.”

“I know,” Louis says, “that's why I asked him to go to couple's counseling with me. He refused.”

“I meant in a private context, one-on-one, where you don't feel pressured to be working toward a solution and can instead just vent your spleen.”

Louis’ lips quirk. “That what Zayn does in here? Vent his spleen about me?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Clark says, smiling. “We do talk about you, obviously.”

“I’ve got friends and family I talk to, they listen, give me advice.”

“Is it good advice?”

He laughs. “Runs the gamut.”

“I can give you the number of a colleague…”

“Really, I’m fine, mate. I dunno where I'd get the time to go to therapy.”

“You sound a little resistant yourself.”

He shrugs.

“Zayn says you're also a smoker.”

“Both of us’ve been smoking for years. Started together, actually.”

“Ever thought about quitting?”

The very idea makes him panicky. “Not seriously.”

“Why not?”

“Calms me down. Gives me something to do with me hands and mouth. Keeps me alert.”

“Sounds like a crutch,” he says.

“I reckon it is,” Louis says. “But I could stop if I wanted. I quit both times I was pregnant.”

“So what's stopping you from quitting for good, then?”

“I dunno.”

“What triggers your smoking?”

“I dunno! I'm a smoker, I smoke.”

"Is it ever something you do with the abject intention of harming yourself?"

Louis scoffs.

“What about marijuana?” 

“I thought you weren't analyzing me!"

“Well, I'm also asking about Zayn’s habits.”

“I dunno,” he mutters. “We smoke together, once in a while, usually before bed. Or when someone else has got the kids.”

“And you always smoke together? He never smokes it alone?”

“As far as I know.”

“In your experience, does Zayn use marijuana in a way similar to his alcohol use?”

“No,” Louis says firmly. “He drinks compulsively, he drinks too much, like he can’t stop. He never smokes like that. When he smokes, it's just for fun, it's casual.”

“Did he drink in the band?” Clark says, writing quickly as they talk, making note after note in what looks like shorthand. “Compulsively?”

“No. Only started toward the end. Before he left.” Louis swallows. “Part of why we got together is ‘cos I was worried about him. I was feeling good, confident, I was single for the first time in ages. I thought if I could give him -- we'd always been sort of flirty, I thought if I let him -- if I went to bed with him, it'd, like, calm him down, make him want to stay. He was estranged from his fiancée, he didn't want to do our kind of music anymore, but I wanted him to at least stay through ‘til the hiatus. I thought if we were together, he might -- yeah.”

“You thought if you could only be enough for him,” Clark says gently, “he wouldn't leave you, he'd get better, and his addiction would end.”

Louis leans over, elbows on his lap, face in his hands, his gut churning with bitter embarrassment. “I guess. But there were other people in his ear, at that point. Probably by the time I went after him, he was already plannin’ his escape.”

“It's magical thinking, Louis, it’s entirely normal, but it's irrational. You're far, far too hard on yourself. He didn't leave for a lack of affection for you. You couldn't have stopped him, and it wasn't your job to. You haven't failed at anything. His leaving wasn't a betrayal of you, or a comment on you.”

Louis makes a noise of reluctant agreement.

“But you still feel that same shame, insecurity and anxiety. That vulnerability. You think he’ll leave you again.”

He looks up. “Why wouldn't he?”

“Sorry?”

“Why wouldn't he?” Louis’ voice is scratchy, snappish. “Why wouldn't ‘e leave?”

Clark looks sympathetically at him. “Why would he?”

“He felt trapped in the band. He feels trapped now.”

“How do you know he feels trapped?”

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” He gets to his feet. “Keep seeing Zayn, but keep your fingers out of me fuckin’ head.”

“Louis, I understand this is all painful to discuss.”

He goes and fetches Amir, ignoring his whining at his playing being interrupted, his head pounding with anger.

He's pushing the door open when Clark says, “One more thing?”

Louis turns, reluctantly.

“Being the spouse of…” He drops his voice and mouths _‘an alcoholic_ ’, “is extremely difficult. But please know being one is very difficult, as well.”

“I know,” Louis mutters. “Thanks.”

He drops the door heavily behind him, shrugging the tote bag of Amir’s toys more securely up onto his shoulder.

“You didn't hear any of that, did you?” he says to Amir.

“Hear what?”

“Perfect.”

 

*

 

Zayn's home when he gets there, working out in the basement. He comes upstairs all sweaty while Louis is in the kitchen, putting together a sandwich for Amir.

“Wassup,” Zayn pants at them, gently nudging Louis aside so he can grab a water from the fridge.

“Not much,” he says. “Went and talked to your boy.”

“What’s he got to say?”

“All the shit I figured he would.”

“Daddy,” Amir says to Zayn, handing him his Go-Gurt. “Open please.”

“I could've opened that,” Louis tells him, as Zayn digs in a drawer for scissors.

“I want Daddy to.”

“Why?”

“He does it better.”

“He opens Go-Gurts better?”

“Yeah.”

Zayn hands him the Go-Gurt, and a nonplussed Louis returns to his sandwich preparations.

“So, ‘ow crazy does old Millard think I am?” Zayn says, and chugs his water.

“Doesn't think you're crazy at all.”

“I’m thirsty,” Amir announces.

Zayn draws back and gets a sippy cup.

“I was thinking,” he says as he's pouring their water pitcher into it, “d’you wanna have a honeymoon trip?”

“Bit late for that,” Louis says, glancing up at him.

“I mean, we couldn't at the time, so.”

“Couldn't what?” says Amir.

“You're chatty today,” Louis says, handing him his sandwich with a smile. “We couldn't go on holiday after we got married.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cos I had you in my tummy, and you were making me throw up all day.”

“Plus Zika,” Zayn adds.

“Plus Zika.”

“Oh,” Amir says, and having lost interest, he wanders away with his water.

Zayn clears his throat. “Just thought it could be nice to go away. Feel like we haven't done anything romantic in a long time.”

“We went to Gstaad.”

“A year ago, an’ the kids and your sister were with us, an’ I was miserable half the time.”

“You were?”

Zayn scratches the back of his neck. “I was, like, jonesing.”

“Seriously? Oh, mate, I'm sorry.”

“You couldn't tell?”

“I thought it was the altitude… Wait, Paris for our anniversary.”

“Yeah, last year!”

“Coachella?”

“Not exactly romantic.”

“Then we went to Ibiza in December.”

“And I was working half that time,” Zayn says. “Did we even have sex once?”

“Oh, _that's_ what you're after? We can have sex here in the house, mate.”

“Can we?” Zayn mutters, opening the fridge again. “‘Cos we haven't, in, uh, three weeks.”

“You're counting?”

“Three weeks and four days.”

Louis laughs. “Hey, I want to, too,” he says, turning to him. “I’ve just been a bit run-down, that's all.”

Zayn shuts the fridge without getting anything out of it and wraps his arms around Louis, lacing his fingers together over his arse.

Louis kisses him on the sharp line of his jaw. “Where's Mims, by the way?”

“Upstairs with Kelly, she came home after school with ‘er. They're pretendin’ to be pirates or something.”

Bo jingles into the room. Louis reaches behind himself to grab the peanut-butter slathered butter knife and extends it to him so he can lick it.

Meanwhile, Zayn’s rubbing his thigh against Louis’ cock, shoving his hands into his pants to grab at his arse.

“Zayn,” Louis murmurs.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he whispers in Louis’ ear, nipping at him. “C’mon. Like when we were teenagers, just go somewhere we've never even been… let's make love all night…”

“Oh, love, you know you don't have fun going away without the kids, you worry about ‘em too much…”

“We’ll bring ‘em along, get ‘em their own room,” Zayn jokes, and Louis chuckles, gazing at him. “I just wanna fuck you on the beach… c’mon.”

“If you wanna go, let’s go,” Louis says. “But I've got writing sessions next week and the week after, and Niall’s got a show in San Diego the week after that, I told him I'd be there --”

Zayn mouths at his neck, his beard scraping the soft flesh there. Louis inhales and tips his head back.

“Let’s go away and make a baby,” he murmurs in his low voice. “Lemme put another baby in you, luv…”

“Zayn, c’mon…”

“Don't overthink it, just yank that IUD out, let's just do it. It's nice, innit? Having a baby in the house?”

“Zayn…”

He squeezes Louis’ arse harder, their pelvises shifting against each other, the fabric of their jeans creating itchy friction that heats the skin underneath.

“Come on,” Zayn whispers, “think about the kids, think how cute and funny they are, don't you want more?”

“Not now,” Louis murmurs back, “not -- not now, y’know?”

“Why?”

“Oh, love, it’s chaotic enough already, I’m working on another album, Mia’s in school now, you're only six months sober…”

Zayn lowers himself to his knees, his warm hands slipping underneath Louis’ t-shirt to grip at his waist, kissing his stomach. “C’mon,” he says, gazing up at him with liquid dark eyes. “Tell me you don't think about it when we fuck.”

Louis smiles at him. “You're funny.”

“I’m funny?”

“Yeah.”

“Funny how?”

“Funny ha-ha.”

“So that's a no, then?”

“It's a no for now.”

Zayn kisses him one last time, under his belly button. “Alright,” he sighs, and gets to his feet.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, APRIL, 2020

The first six months of sobriety are the easiest -- even a little exciting. Zayn’s got his shiny toolbox of coping skills, he's got a bunch of new words to describe his reality, he's making breakthroughs all the time.

Then the breakthroughs grind to a halt. Sobriety becomes boring, mundane, a daily slog. Clark starts pushing him more, asking him more often about Perrie, about the band.

He's after the same thing no matter which one he's asking about. “Why did you not tell anyone you were leaving, not even Louis?” “Why did you end an engagement with a text?”

“I don't know,” he keeps telling him, sometimes melancholy, sometimes angry. “ _I don't know.”_

He _had_ to. Zayn can't seem to explain that to anyone. He couldn't stand it anymore, any of it. It was like that party a few years ago, when he was drunk and he stuck his hand into the ice in a champagne bucket, and his friends kept egging him on to keep it in. He managed, for a good few minutes, and then came a moment where he absolutely could not stand it anymore and yanked it out.

Everything he did in the first half of 2015 was out of desperate need. Yeah, it was poorly considered, but his fucking hand was about to fall off.

And then came Louis, barreling into his life like a pregnant little tornado, demanding love and attention and affection and domesticity, and now he feels, five years later, that maybe he's just been sucked dry. It's not Louis’ fault, it's no one’s fault, but the fact is that they're both exhausted, and without the crutch of alcohol, Zayn is flagging. Everything is hard, like moving through oatmeal, and Louis is so quick-mouthed and quick-tempered. They've been bickering even more, lately, having sex less, having fewer nice moments, less time alone. Louis seems to think that Zayn should just be fixed, already, all smiling and new and better, like sobriety is flipping a switch.

And Louis is busy, now, so busy with his new album, really throwing himself into it like he didn't with the first one, when he was so tentative and hesitant, barely doing performances, always so guilty about leaving baby Amir at home.

Zayn knows he's being selfish when he presses for them to have another baby. He knows in his heart Louis is right, he just wants him back at home -- he misses how Louis clung to him when he was pregnant, he misses when he was home all the time, sleepy and sweeter than usual, domesticated. He wants those tender moments together again, the way they looked at each other when their kids said their first words, the late, late moon-splashed nights when the baby woke them in the wee hours crying and one of them tended to it and returned to bed, sleepily nuzzling against the warm body of the other.

He wants Louis, asleep on the couch with a baby on his chest, his pretty vulpine face in repose, spit-up on the collar of his t-shirt.

And he wants them like they used to be, too, laughter bouncing off the windows of the bus, passing a joint back and forth, something stupid on the TV that they aren't even paying attention to.

Those days have wound to a close, Zayn can tell. The more he clings to them, the more Louis wriggles away, staking his independence, clawing his own life back -- a life outside of his husband and his babies, a life all his own.

It makes Zayn feel terribly lonely. At least he has the kids, who are old enough now to be constantly funny and engaging. He really enjoys all the time he's been spending with them. They stop him from drinking, because soon they'll be old enough to feel let down by him, and that's something he doesn't want to do.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, APRIL 14, 2020

_Pop musician and former One Direction heartthrob Liam Payne is splitting from Angevin star and Tony Award nominee Cecilia Marino, his wife of two years, a representative for the couple announced today._

_Marino has filed for divorce from Payne, citing irreconcilable differences. The pair share 3-year-old daughter Sunday together._

_Payne and Marino have lived separately for almost a year, according to an action for divorce filed in the state of New York._

_Their last public appearance as a couple was at the 2019 Tony Awards, which Payne attended in support of Marino, who was nominated for Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical._

_“It’s not much of a surprise to see it end, but Liam is heartbroken,” a source tells PEOPLE of the couple. “He did everything he could to make it work. He’s reeling.”_

_The relationship was strained for years, sources say. The conflict worsened, the insider told us, when Payne’s ex-bandmate, Zayn Malik, released a single that reportedly called Payne out for trying to break up his marriage with their fellow ex-bandmate Louis Tomlinson. Malik was notoriously evasive about the meaning of the song, but rumors swirled that Payne and Tomlinson had had an affair._

_“It didn’t bother her at the time, but it became symbolic of the larger issues they were having,” adds the insider. “They weren’t compatible in a lot of ways, and Cecilia got fed up really fast with the vortex of drama that accompanies the One Direction guys. She’s more old-school, she likes her privacy, and Liam tried his best to keep his head down for her, but I think they’re all kind of cursed in that way. It’s like the Beatles. There’s no real privacy.”_

_Neither Payne nor Marino has commented directly on the split. Payne said in a tweet this morning,_ Thanks as always for all your kindness love and support x, _and Marino stopped briefly to talk to fans as she attended a Monday performance of M. Butterfly at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre, but dodged questions about her soon-to-be ex-husband._

_*_

Louis texts Liam as soon as he hears, when he's on his way into the house with groceries. He sees the Twitter banner alert come across the top of his phone, and he drops them on the floor. _Payno I’m so, so sorry. I’m here if you need to talk. Love you lad_

Liam keeps typing, stopping, and starting again. Finally he says, _Thanks tommo, it's been a long time coming but still rough. I'm doing alrite. You'd be proud… spent all morning smoking on a balcony drinking tea_

 _Ahhh learned your coping skills from the best,_ Louis says, smiling to himself.

He puts the phone down beside the sink and starts washing his hands. And just like that, his wedding band slides off his finger, clattering into the sink and slipping down the drain.

“No, no,” he murmurs, trying to reach after it, but his fingers don't fit. “Shit!”

Frantic for reasons he doesn't quite understand, he opens the cabinet under the sink and crawls underneath, trying to tug the pipe loose.

Zayn wanders in and kneels in front of him, rubbing at his beard. “Louis,” he says sleepily. “What’re you doing?”

“I dropped me ring down the drain.”

“Oh… ‘S’alright, we’ll call a plumber.”

“I can get it,” Louis says, tugging harder.

“No, you're gonna break somethin’, get out of there.”

He extends a hand and pulls him up. Louis turns and bends over the sink again, peering down the drain.

“Love…” Zayn sounds bored, almost annoyed. “It's just a ring. Worst case scenario, we can get you a new one, yeah?”

Louis doesn't move; he gnaws at his lip. “Yeah.”

 

BEVERLY HILLS, MAY 31, 2020

They have a spectacular row as Zayn’s getting ready to leave for a high-stakes poker game. Louis forgot to tell him he had a writing session planned, and gets in a strop when he walks in on Zayn shaving.

Ingrid is out of town, apparently, and Louis texts half a dozen people, but none of them can watch the kids. So he chases Zayn around the upstairs, shouting, “I’ve got to work, Zayn! This isn't fucking fair! I've missed plenty of shit staying home with them, I let you go on tour and didn't say a word, I let you fly out at a moment’s notice, I've always been there for them, can you take this one night?”

“I've had this planned for months! You didn't tell me you were workin’ tonight!”

“I'm sorry! I put it in the Google calendar!”

“Neither of us ever looks at that!”

“You're bein’ properly unfair!”

“I look after the kids all the time, Louis, it's you who's bein’ unfair --”

Louis follows him into the walk-in closet. “You've got no enthusiasm for me doing another album, none, ‘cos for the first time it's cutting into your life, and you've got to actually make sacrifices!”

“That ain't fair at all!” Zayn shouts. “I'm just tired, Louis! I'm working really hard to be sober, I need a night out once in a while!”

“That's another thing, I’m worried about you being around people who’re drinking, mate.”

“ _What_?” He stands up, pulling on a henley. “You drink around me! You have your mates over and drink in front of me like it's nothin’!”

“Do you need me to stop? ‘Cos I will, I swear! I don't keep alcohol in the house, I thought that was enough --”

“It's fine, Louis, it's fuckin’ fine, I just need a night out. Can't you reschedule this?”

“I don't want to have to! I worked my arse off to get meetings with these writers!”

“Too bad!”

“Y’know,” Louis says, sounding bitterly angry, “you act so smart about gender politics, an’ shit, you're so _woke_ , but I think at the end of the day you want me trapped at home, having and raising the babies.”

“Please, what a load of shit -- I've supported your career from day one --”

“Only when it's convenient! ‘Cos you want me quiet and happy, but you don't want it _that_ bad!”

“Maybe you just _feel_ trapped and you're taking it out on me, acting like I orchestrated it -- shitty terrible Zayn, that's me, and poor Louis, the victim --”

“Please!”

“You didn't want either of our kids!” he screams, storming out of the room. “Admit it, you still resent me for getting you pregnant!”

Louis races after him. “Fuck you! _Fuck_ you! I love our kids to death! They're the best thing in me fucking life!”

“Yeah, doesn't mean you wanted ‘em!”

“Of course I didn't plan on having kids this young! None of us’d be here if we didn't have an accident!”

“None of us'd be here if you'd’ve let me leave the band in March like I planned!” Zayn hollers at him, wheeling to face him. “I only hung around for you! You were it! You were the only good thing! What happened to _that_ Louis? Where'd ‘e fuckin’ get off to? ‘Cos all I see now is somebody who's hell-bent on driving me away!”

Louis stands stock-still, his eyes ablaze. “You want out of here? Go ahead.” His voice shakes. “Get out!”

Panic rises in Zayn's throat. “Louis, I don't want to leave you, I don't, swear to God, I'm just so --”

“So _what_?”

“I’m so tired,” he says, “I’m so fucking tired, all I want is some time to meself, I never get it, I'm run ragged, mate.”

“You think I'm not tired? You think I'm not sad and frustrated and depressed? You think all of this hasn't been hard on me?”

“It's harder on me,” Zayn screams, “I’m the one who's suffering!”

“An’ I’m the one you take your fucking suffering out on!” Louis shrieks like a teakettle. “I’m the one you lean on!”

“You're me husband, that's your job! You lean on me too!”

“An’ when I feel insecure about us and come to you, all you do is shit on me for it and make me feel guilty!”

“ _I’m insecure too_! And all you do is act like I'm not allowed to be!”

“I just want your support,” Louis yells, and he takes a seat on the bed, burying his face in his hands. “I just want you to be there for me and take care of me.”

“I am! I do!”

“You can't even give up one night of poker!”

“I've been waiting for this game for fuckin’ months! You can reschedule your writing session, I can't reschedule this!”

Louis looks up at him, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. “It's the gesture, Zayn!”

“I don't want to make it! I don't want to! So too fuckin’ bad! You're not gonna sit there and cry and make me feel bad! I'm going!”

He picks his leather jacket up off the bed and shrugs it on. Louis looks down at his nails, examining them.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I'll stay home. Have fun.”

“I will,” Zayn snaps, and heads out the door, his stomach already churning with regret.

 

*

 

The poker game is technically secret, maybe technically illegal, but no one there is worried about that. It's in an expansive, ritzy basement room at the Peninsula, with a casino-sized table in the center of the room, surrounded by black stools. The walls are thick with gilded wallpaper, the gold shimmering in the low light, and massive 19th century paintings. In the corner by the entryway is a bar with an eagerly waiting attendant.

As Zayn slinks into the room, the bartender glances at him. “Can I get you something, sir?”

“Tonic water,” he says.

“Of course.”

Zayn looks around. He sees a few familiar faces; Megan Ellison, G-Eazy, Calvin Harris. Everyone else is older guys, mutual fund douches or actors he doesn't recognize.

David comes in right behind him, clapping him on the back. “Hey Malik. Ready to lose thirty grand?”

Zayn laughs. “We’ll see about that, mate.”

“Yeah, alright.”

They’ve all been seated, bought in and are having the first round of cards dealt out to them by the surly Russian dealer when a familiar voice drawls from the stairs, “Sorry we’re late…”

Zayn turns, cold foreboding creeping down his neck, and sees Harry, tailed by a gorgeous blond bloke. Vaguely recognizable; probably a model.

Harry pretends not to see him as he strides over and takes the last two empty stools.

“Your friend here buying in?” the dealer grunts.

“Nah, just me,” Harry says with a tight smile, shoring up his watch on his wrist. His model glances boredly down at the phone in his lap.

Gina, who runs the game, looks up from her corner desk, stops her bookkeeping and comes over to him. He hands her thirty thousand dollars in cash, which she counts as she stands there.

“He's square,” she says to the dealer, and walks away.

The dealer starts stacking chips in front of Harry, who makes brief eye contact with Zayn. The tension in the room, already thick, grows swampy. Everyone seems to be gamely pretending there's no reason the two of them would find it awkward to be in the same room.

“Game is Texas hold’em, high-only, no buy-backs,” the dealer says. “To start the first round, Ellison is big blind, Styles is small blind.”

“Is that still a hundred, hundred-fifty?” Megan says, glancing up.

“Correct.”

Harry pushes a hundred chip toward the center and glances up. “Hi David. Didn't see you there.”

“Hey, Styles. Who turned you on to this game?”

Harry indicates Megan.

“I’m producing a project Harry’s in,” she says. “Thought he might be a good addition to the table.”

Harry winks at her.

“Though that remains to be seen,” she adds.

He pouts.

Zayn tries, despite his fuzzy, throbbing brain, to focus on the cards that have just been dealt to him. It's a shit hand, a ten and a two, but you never know. He calls the blind.

The flop comes down. Two queens and a seven.

When it comes around to Harry, he slides a thousand chip forward.

“Styles’ got pocket queens,” Calvin murmurs. “Or he's full of shit.”

“Good luck working out which,” Harry says, glancing at his phone.

“Huh,” Megan says. “I’ll call that. I think you're full of shit.”

It goes down the line -- call call call. G-Eazy folds. Zayn pretends to think about it, then folds too.

“Puss puss,” David says, pressing his index finger to the tip of his middle finger.

“It's called strategy, mate,” Zayn says. “ _Strategery_.”

David laughs.

Zayn’s leg is starting to bounce. He can't think -- the recycled air around him is suffocating. He gnaws at his lip for about ten seconds and turns to the bartender.

“Can I get a G&T?” he says.

The bartender nods. “Right away, sir.”

“Oh, I like this,” David crows. “I was getting sick of that sobriety shit.”

Just one drink. Just one. He can handle just one. Zayn accidentally makes eye contact with Harry, who's looking at him with sincere concern. He immediately looks away, internally furious. He hates Harry’s judgmental owl face, that knowing stare, look at me, I'm so clever. Fuck you. He's so angry, and he can't even figure out why.

The bartender sets a gin and tonic in front of him. He drains it in two sips, and out comes another.

 

*

 

Zayn is staggering drunk by the time he and Harry go head to head.

He has a crap hand, he's got nothing, just one pair plus a pair of threes on the table. But he's too stubborn to fold like everyone else has. He still knows Harry’s body language pretty well, and he's got this nagging feeling that Harry hasn't got shit. So he keeps betting him higher, then finally looks him dead in the eye and pushes all his chips in.

Harry surveys the table, playing with the ring on his thumb. “Call,” he says impassively.

“Alright then, show ‘em,” the dealer says, and they turn their cards over.

They have the exact same hand. A jack and an eight.

Harry smiles wryly. “Huh. Fancy that.”

“No one’s got a flush, right? Split the pot,” the dealer says.

They both start reaching for the chips, going out of their way not to touch each other's hands as they sort them into two piles. Zayn’s head is buzzing violently; he's got the spins.

“I’m out,” he mutters.

No one hears him, so he repeats it.

“Cash out? How much you got, fifty thou?” the dealer says.

“Fifty two.”

“Fifty two thou,” he calls to Gina, who starts counting out stacks.

Zayn stands up, spinning, and heads for the toilet down the hall. There's no attendant in there, thank God, because he needs to kneel on the white stone floor and barf.

He comes out and sways over to the mirror, looking at himself pitifully, pushing his dark hair off his forehead and patting his face with a towel he dampens.

He stands there for a few minutes, trying to regain his composure. Suddenly the door creaks open.

Zayn looks up. For some reason, he expected Harry, but it's Harry’s model. He really is gorgeous -- lush lips, delicate features. Zayn accidentally stares at him; it must come off kind of hostile because the model -- he spoke earlier, what did he say his name was? Xander? -- shrinks back.

“Just have to pee, sorry,” he says.

“Go ahead, mate,” Zayn says, and realizes he has to pee, too.

They end up at the urinals next to each other. It takes Zayn forever, he's so drunk, and he's just finished and about to shake it and turn around when Xander glances sidelong at his cock.

“Nice dick,” he says.

The hair on the back of Zayn’s neck rises. He smells an opportunity to cheat like blood in the water. The past five years, he's let them all march by, unacknowledged. A video girl’s hand on the back of his neck. The drummer on his tour licking his lips when he walked by without a shirt. Waiters and waitresses slipping him their number. Models winking at him backstage at Fashion Week. Every time, he thought of his kids, thought of their disgust, years from now, if they found out.

Now, those thoughts slip away like smoke. They're already going to be disgusted with him, Louis is going to turn them against him, Louis has turned against him -- _he doesn't love you, he never loved you, he just wanted to have your pretty babies, suck you dry, leave you a lonely husk_ \--

“Thanks,” he says, his voice low.

“Can I touch it?”

Zayn nods. He drops his jeans, then his boxers. His head is spinning ferociously, now. He can't think or breathe. He closes his eyes.

Xander starts to jerk him off with slow, lingering tugs. Arousal starts to build in his gut. Zayn fumbles for his belt and undoes it, then starts to jerk him off, too. A cock that isn't Louis’ feels strange in his hands. Neither of them seem to care about the dribbles of piss. This is already nasty, so it might as well be full-bore disgusting. Zayn knows Xander can see his wedding band glinting on the hand he's jerking him off with.

They stumble away from the urinal and into the wall, snogging. It's not nice, it's rough and spitty and desperate. Zayn works his hand faster, more urgently, and Xander moans against his mouth before coming all over his palm.

They turn their attention to Zayn, who's not getting hard fast enough, for some reason. Xander kneels on the nasty floor, taking his half-flaccid cock in his mouth, sucking at him. Zayn opens his mouth to tell him to stop, but those gorgeous lips are wrapped snug around him, and there's come smeared in his dark golden hair, and he just dry heaves from drunken nausea instead.

Xander starts kneading his balls. Zayn leans his head back against the wall and spots himself in the mirror opposite him. He’s a sight; his hair mussed, all over the place, his eyes wild, his cheekbones sharp in his face. Has he lost weight lately? He hasn't been paying attention. He's been floating through life like a dream.

He looks down at Xander, and his gut lurches at the sight of him on his knees, licking. He feels his hard-on ebb. He shies back, and Xander looks up at him, his brow knitting.

"Lemme fuck you," Zayn slurs. 

Xander gets to his feet with a sigh and leads him into one of the toilet stalls. The ornate door swings heavily shut behind them, and Xander leans against the wall, his pert, sort of flat arse out. No face, just the back of his lovely blond head. Zayn digs a condom out of his wallet in his pocket and fumblingly rolls it over himself.

"Hurry up, or he's gonna come looking for me," Xander says.

"Yeah, yeah." Zayn balls the back of his shirt in his fist as he slides into him, and Xander lets out a broken moan. 

He starts to thrust, drunkenly, haltingly. Their muted groans and sighs echo off the marble. Zayn can't remember the last time he's been this bad at sex, but he's getting the job done on his own end, anyway -- it's only about a minute and a half before he comes, sighing in relief. 

He pulls out, slips the condom off and tosses it into the toilet without tying it. A rope of his own warm come ricochets out and slaps across his palm; he tears paper frantically from the toilet roll, wiping it off, disgusted by it.  

While he does this, Xander is shimmying his trousers back up over his arse and going over to the mirrors to get cleaned up. Zayn follows him out and stands behind him, rooted to the spot, his mind becoming sharper as orgasm and fear start to work their way through his body. He hopes the rest of the table isn't wondering where the fuck they are. Are they going to know? Of course they'll know. Is Harry going to rat him out to Louis?

Sick regret floods him, making him lightheaded. No no no no no. What did he do? He watches Xander rinsing and spitting in the marble sink, feeling himself float outside of his body. What did he just do?

“Don't tell anyone about this,” he begs.

Xander lets out a humorless little laugh. “I wasn't going to.”

Zayn watches him walk out, his brain buzzing harder, his ears ringing. He feels pierced by guilt, like it’s a sword through his belly.

He cleans himself up the best he can, fumbling as he pulls his pants up and buttons them with shaky hands.

The walk down the hall is interminable. Gina is waiting for him at the foot of the stairs with a manila envelope full of cash, smiling. Zayn stares numbly at her as he walks, then takes the envelope.

“Thanks for playing, hon,” she says, smiling and giving him a kiss on the cheek, leaving lipstick behind. “Come again. I'll be texting out the date of the next game.”

“Right,” Zayn says. She may as well be speaking Japanese.

He looks over her shoulder at the poker table. Harry is staring at him, studying him with those green eyes. Seeing into him, through him. He wants to scream. He looks away, instead.

Zayn moves slowly up the stairs, wiping the lipstick off his cheek, staring at the red smear it leaves on the back of his hand.

 

*

 

Louis waited up for him. He can hear him in the sitting room, watching TV. It's late, the kids must be in bed.

Zayn stands in the front hall for a wall, crying silently. Hot tears slice down his cheeks, he can taste the salt. It feels good to cry; he hasn't in a while. He refuses to cry, in therapy. Whenever he's about to start he bites down on his tongue.

He’s sick with dread. He's only felt this scared a few times before. He has to tell Louis, though. If Harry is the one to tell him, it'll all be over. Louis would never forgive that level of humiliation.

Zayn walks slowly down the hall, shuffling, like a man walking to his execution.

He stops in the doorway, looking at the back of Louis’ head over the top of the couch. He's watching football highlights on the wall plasma.

“Louis,” he says shakily.

Louis turns, muting the TV and laying his arm across the back of the couch. “Hey,” he says hoarsely, and rubs at his nose with a knuckle.

“I have to tell you something,” Zayn says, starting to tremble with adrenaline.

Louis studies him. “Did you drink tonight?”

“Yeah. I did. But that's, um.” His palms are slick with sweat. He rubs them on his jeans. “Oh God. Louis.”

Louis rises to his feet, his watch shining on his wrist in the low light -- it’s the one Zayn gave him when Amir was born. His face is inscrutable.

“What did you do?” he says, carefully enunciating every word.

“Louis,” Zayn chokes out. “I'm so sorry.”

“ _What did you do?”_

“I --” He dry heaves again. “I did somethin’...”

“What? WHAT? Zayn, _please_!” His voice is high; he's terrified. “Just tell me!”

“I don't want to tell you, I don't want to do this --”

“ _Zayn_!”

“I -- I gave someone at poker a handjob in the toilet, and I fucked him. That’s it, that's all that happened --”

Louis stares at him as he processes this, then lets out a small sound and starts backing away, tripping as he bumps into the coffee table.

Zayn moves toward him. “Louis --”

“You did _what_?” His voice is reedy; he sounds absolutely devastated.

“It meant nothing, absolutely nothing, I dunno why I did it, I dunno what's wrong with me --” His voice cracks. “Louis, please, God, please --”

“The one thing I asked you never to do!” Louis screams at him. “The one thing! I begged you! You promised me! You swore up and down!”

“We ‘ad that fight, and I just --”

“No! No! Christ! Get out, get out of here, I don't want to look at you, oh my God --”

“Baby --”

“You promised me! You made vows to me! The _one_ thing you swore you wouldn't do to me!”

Zayn closes his eyes, dizzy with grief.

“Get out. _Get out.”_

“I don't have anywhere to go,” he says, swallowing.

“Go stay with _David_ ,” Louis snarls. “Go stay with any of your friends. Get a hotel. I don't give a fuck. I couldn't care less. Get out of me sight. Get out of me fucking house.”

He slips his ring off and chucks it at Zayn. It hits him square in the chest. Zayn doesn't move, and Louis comes at him like a freight train, screaming, “Get out, get out, _get out -_ -”

Zayn backs up in a daze, turning and starting back through the front hall. “Can I get some clothes,” he says weakly.

“ _No!”_

Louis pushes him out the door, into the cool damp night. Zayn turns around, desperately, willing to beg and plead and reason with him, but the door is slamming shut in his face, the lock is flipping, and the alarm system beeps that it’s re-engaged.

“I have a key,” Zayn screams.

“GO AWAY,” Louis screams back. “I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD --”

Zayn staggers away toward the drive, ringing Sean.

 

 

*

 

 

When he's gone, Louis goes upstairs to their empty bed and lies in it sobbing.

It's helpless, inconsolable crying, the keening kind, the full-body kind that exhausts you and leaves you weak and dizzy. In between sobbing, he polishes off a pack of cigarettes, not even bothering to crack a window, just lying there in a haze of smoke.

His phone dings next to him after an hour or so of this, and he doesn't want to even look at it, but then it dings again and again, and he lifts his head.

It's three texts from a strange number.

_Hey, I really don't want to intrude at all, but I was at the poker game Zayn was at tonight and he was drinking fairly heavily… don't know if you knew or not. I know he's been sober for a while. Just worried. xx_

_This is Larry by the way. Sorry. I know you don't have my new number_

_*Harry. Wow. Awkward. Anyway_

Louis, insane with grief and paranoia, rings the number and thrusts the phone to his ear.

“Was it you?” he demands as soon as Harry picks up.

“What?” Harry says, sounding concerned.

“Was it you?”

“Louis, I don't know what you're talking about --”

"DID YOU FUCK MY HUSBAND?”

There's a very loud silence.

“ _Sorry_?” he finally splutters.

“Is that a no?”

“It's a complete, unqualified, absolute no, what are you _talking_ about?”

“Oh,” Louis says, coming back to earth. “Christ. Sorry.”

“What happened?” He sounds very, very worried now.

Louis sniffles and pushes his hair back off his forehead. “Um, Zayn ‘ad sex with someone else tonight.”

“Fuck. God. I’m so sorry. Wait, with who?”

“He didn't say. That's why I freaked out on you.”

“You know I’d never do that to you in a million years, right?”

“I do. I dunno what came over me. Sorry.”

“It's okay. I'm so sorry.”

Louis nods, swallowing. “Yeah.”

“Wait, _tonight,_ he --? Oh, Christ.” Harry lets out a breathy laugh. “I think I know who it was.”

“Yeah?”

“This guy I've been seeing. They were in the bathroom for a while… I thought he was giving him coke, but…”

“What's he look like?”

He hesitates. “Louis, don't do this to yourself.”

“Huh,” Louis says drily. He's beginning to feel numb. “Must be proper good-looking, then.”

“In a boring way, yeah.”

“Tall? Blonde?”

“Mate, c’mon…”

“So yes and yes.”

“Do you have somebody who can come sit with you?” he asks, gingerly.

Louis snorts. “I’m not gonna do meself in, Harold, I've got two little kids.”

“I know, I'm just saying.”

“I sorta just want to be alone. Thanks for texting me. I, uh… I appreciate it. The drinking’s sort of the least of me worries right now, but --”

“I get it. I'm sorry.”

“Sorry about your boyfriend,” Louis says, wiping his eyes.

“Christ, don't -- don't worry about that. Look, I'll let you go, I just wanted to make sure you're alright.”

“I will be.”

“Okay.” Harry hesitates again, then: “Bye.”

Louis hangs up on him and lays back down in bed. His abs are sore from crying. He feels at them with a curious hand, like he'd forgotten his body exists.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, JUNE 1, 2020

Louis wakes up to a beautiful California morning streaming in the windows, birds chirping outside, and he cries some more in bed, pitiful wracking sobs that he barely has the energy for. He slept in his clothes. His phone is clogged with mundane texts he can't imagine answering.

He hears the bedroom door open, and tries to quickly compose himself. Mia climbs up on the bed, her dark ringlets bouncing, and sits at his side, watching him. He sniffles and reaches out to her, stroking the little baby hairs along her forehead with his thumb.

“Are you sad, Daddy?” she says, reaching up to touch his face in turn, wiping away his tears.

Louis’ heart lurches. “I'll be okay, angel.”

“You need tea,” Mia tells him very seriously.

He nods. “I do.”

She starts climbing down off the bed. “I'll make it!”

Louis tosses the covers off himself and climbs out after her. “No, no -- I'll do that --”

“I'll make it,” she says confidently, running down the hall. “I'll put the kettle on!”

“No, no no,” he shouts, chasing her.

 

*

 

Louis makes himself some English Breakfast and a little cup of berry flavored, non-caffeinated tea for Mia. They sit in the breakfast nook overlooking the backyard, watching butterflies dart around in the flowers outside the window. Louis tries not to think about Zayn as Mia chatters away about school. It's hard, because she reminds him so much of him when she's excited about things.

She's telling him about the mealworm experiment her class is doing when he hears the front door open; he jerks in his seat, afraid that it's Zayn.

But it's Niall’s voice calling, “Hullo hullo!”

“Uncle Niall!” Mia is off like a shot. Louis gets up and follows her, wondering if Amir is awake yet.

Niall kneels in the front hall, groaning, and hugs Mia. “Oh, Mimsy! I love ya, but you're so damn hard on me knees!”

“Alright there?” Louis says, leaning in the doorway.

“Hi, lad,” Niall says, grinning. “Brought that jacket you left at me show. Sorry it took so long.”

“Oh, brilliant, thanks…”

Niall gets with great difficulty to his feet and bringing the jacket over. It's not Louis’. It's one of Zayn’s that Louis borrowed. He strokes his fingers over the leather, his eyes welling up. It smells like him.

“Tommo?”

Louis looks up at Niall. His blue eyes are shining in his tanned face, his brows lowered with worry. Mia glances between them.

“Love, can you go get your brother up?” he says breathily, blinking back tears. “I'll be up in a few, I'll help you brush your teeth.”

“Okay,” she says, then turns to Niall. “Daddy’s sad today,” she informs him, and flounces off.

Louis exhales shakily.

When she's out of earshot, Niall takes him by the elbows, staring into his eyes intently. “Where’s Zayn?”

Louis exhales. “Um…”

“He's… _alright_ , right?”

“God, yeah, he's fine!”

Niall looks greatly relieved. “Alright, alright. You just looked, like… What's up, what happened?”

Louis can't look at him. “I kicked him out,” he mutters, staring at the floor.

Niall blows out a long breath and wraps an arm around him, rubbing and patting him on the back. “Let’s go sit down,” he says, leading him to the staircase.

They perch on the last step, and Louis leans his head onto Niall’s shoulder. He's quiet for a long moment.

“He went to this poker game last night,” he mutters. “We fought before he left, it was really bad. Brought up a lot of old shit. We've been rowing lately, but this was like, the peak.”

“Okay…”

“He’d been sober for, what, nine months and two weeks, as of last night? So, he comes home drunk, then ‘e tells me…” He breaks off, biting at the inside of his cheek. “He told me he had -- God. He had it off with this bloke who was there.”

“Sex? Full sex?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Christ,” Niall mutters, rubbing his back harder. “I'm so sorry, Louis.”

“I knew this was gonna happen,” he says.

“Nah, look, it's not your fault, you didn't know that --”

“I love him,” Louis says miserably. His voice cracks. “I gave him everything. Why would ‘e do this to me?”

“He was too immature t’ get married,” Niall whispers. “He's strugglin’ with a lot o’ shit…”

“I was too immature to get married! I'm strugglin’ wiv shit! I’ve never cheated on him! I never considered it! God…”

“I sorta always thought, when he did it before, that was his way of dealin’ with problems,” Niall says delicately. “Like -- sort of the indirect route. Force a confrontation.”

Louis moans and shifts away from him, pressing his hands against his eyes. “I can't even think about this right now. I'm so -- what do I tell the kids? ‘Where’s Daddy gone?’ ‘Oh, loves, I kicked him out on his arse ‘cos he cheated on me with some random bloke in a toilet while I was sat home feeling guilty I’d fought with him.’”

“In the _toilet_?”

“That's what Harry said.”

“Hol’ on.” Niall puts a hand up. _“What_?”

“Oh, right.” Louis sighs. “Harry was at the poker game. He brought along some tart, I dunno who --”

“Prolly that model he's dating.”

“Whatever. Model. Christ. Tart got it from Zayn in the bathroom. And Zayn jerked him off.”

“God,” Niall mutters. He strokes Louis’ hair. “Harry’s taste is gettin’ worse and worse.”

“What about _mine_?”

“Tommo, Tommo, this isn't -- it doesn't have to be the end o’ the world, look, you've got five years together, you got a life together, don't make any sudden decisions here.”

“I --”

“Daddy?” Mia calls down the stairs.

They both turn and see the kids sitting at the top of the stairs.

“Teeth,” Amir says, baring his and pointing to them.

“Oh, yeah,” Louis says, getting unsteadily to his feet and patting Niall on the shoulder. “Coming, loves.”

 

*

 

Later, when Louis has gotten the kids settled down in front of the TV, he and Niall go outside -- the designated place for having terrible grown-up conversations. They sit at a patio table, and Louis resumes chainsmoking.

“I dunno what to do,” he mutters, flicking the ash off into the grass.

“Don’t do anythin’ right now.”

Louis is quiet for a while. “You really don't want me to leave him.”

“I just don't want you to do anything rash, Tommo.”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “I won't.”

Niall nods, looking somber. “Alright.”

“Probably a trial separation’d be good for us.” He takes another drag. “It's been heading this way for a while. I didn't want it admit it to myself… I do still love him.” He tightens his jaw to stem against a tide of powerful sadness in his chest.

Niall reaches over and squeezes his shoulder.

“It's funny, ‘cos… I expected this.” He rubs at his forehead. “Think I sort of drove him to it, actually.”

“Tommo, no --”

“And one minute --” He laughs. “One minute I’m totally devastated, next minute I'm like, hey, I'm overreacting, it was one slip, he didn't even know him! I've got that little self-respect, I’m that insecure, that my reaction is --”

Niall gazes at him in pained sympathy.

“But he'd do it again, now, wouldn't he?” Louis shakes his head. “The floodgates are opened, it'd be just like his drinking. He'd say it’ll never happen again, but then…”

“I wouldn't be so sure it's t’ same thing.”

“Well, it feels true to me, at least.” He lights another cigarette and squints over at Niall in the harsh morning light. “What's up with you, lad? You've been trying to cause trouble with the two of us for ages, telling me he's no good, lecturin’ him in rehab, now he cheats on me and you're Team Zayn?”

Niall looks terribly guilty. “Look, I see all this from your angle,” he says. “An’ I just wanted to protect you. But I've sorta realized, like, it's not fair. It's a marriage with two people in it. And I've never been married. Me longest relationship’s, like, what, a year and a half with Ellie now? I'm comin’ up on twenty-eight and that's the longest I've been with somebody. Who am I t’ tell you what to do?”

“You were right, though,” he mutters. “Dead-on. He was worse off than I thought, and I wasn’t seeing it ‘cos I loved him too much.”

“I don't want t’ be right,” Niall says helplessly. “I want t’ be wrong. I want you t’ be happy.”

Louis manages a smile for him. “Oh, Neil…”

“I mean it.”

He draws circles on the table with his finger, smoking. “I also, like --” He hesitates, not wanting to say it. “I’ve got to figure he’s done it before.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You know how it is, though.”

“Isn’t like you caught him in the act,” Niall says. “He ran home and told you exactly what happened. Sounds more like somethin’ he did impulsively and regretted, not a sneaky habit.”

“Have you quite finished, Doctor?”

“I’m bein’ serious!”

“You’re assuming he wasn’t lying,” Louis mutters. “Maybe more happened than he said.”

“Like what?"

Louis is overcome with a pang of bitter sadness, and lays his head down on the table. “Can’t believe I’m ‘avin’ this conversation.”

“I’m sorry, Louis,” Niall murmurs, and rubs his back some more.

 

*

 

Zayn wakes up in David’s guest room, hungover and disoriented, blinking at the platinum records on the walls. Then he remembers. Panic seizes his chest and throat, and he fumbles for his phone.

It's on the bedside table, but it's dead. He paces around looking for charger, finally finding one in the en suite bathroom, where he stands, jittery with anxiety as he watches the white Apple logo appear.

Finally it turns back on. He calls Louis immediately, over and over, getting sent to voicemail four times, then Louis texts him: _What do you want ?_

_Louis i'm so sorry i need to talk to you please_

Louis leaves him on read, at first, then after a minute he starts typing.

_I don't want to talk. Just give me some time_

_what did you tell the kids????_ Zayn types frantically.

_Nothing ! I said you left early to do something for work_

_louis i swear it meant nothing to me, nothings ever meant less_

_i don't want to talk about this ! jesus christ !_ Louis writes back immediately, then types for a while and finally says: _if it meant nothing why did you do it ?_

Zayn stares at his phone, his mind racing and coming up with nothing. Finally he says, _i dont know. i dont know. im so sorry_

Louis doesn't reply.

 _what do you wanna do?_ Zayn says.

_i think we should try a separation_

Zayn closes his eyes, leaning hard on the bathroom counter, dizzy with regret. _Babe please lets take some time to think about this_

_Look , it’s not like this is coming out of nowhere … i don't like how it's been with us lately. I reckon we need some time apart_

Zayn swallows. The panic worsens. _but we have so many good times too, Louis please, im so sick over this. please i can't stand you angry with me_

_Zayn it isn't even that i'm angry. Do you get that ? I’m hurt_

_i get it. i do_

_I’m not going to be able to forgive you this fast,_ Louis says.

Zayn inhales. _can i come by to get some clothes and see the kids_

_Yeah . Ingrid’s here, I’ll ask her to bring some clothes downstairs_

_thanks._

 

*

 

After Niall leaves, Louis invites Oli over so they can hide downstairs in the home theater together, blasting music and scrolling through Twitter on their phones.

“I feel shitty,” Louis mutters after a while. “Leaving the kids with the nanny… I know they know somethin’s up.”

“Can't blame you for needing a moment away from everything.”

“Yeah."

Oli checks his watch. “When Zayn's coming by?"

“Soon.” Louis gnaws at the inside of his cheek, his heart speeding up. “I don't even like the thought of him in the house… I told him I don't wanna see him, but I feel like he's gonna come down here and start apologizing or summat, and I'm either gonna kick him in the dick or he's gonna bat his stupid eyelashes and make that sad pouty face and I'm gonna go moony and forget what happened and let him take me to bed like the stupid chump I am.”

“You're not a chump.”

“Sorry. I know I've been on and on about this.”

"I can't blame you for that, either."

Louis zones out, staring at a tab he's got open in Safari.

_… Addiction is not a thinking disorder, it's an emotional disorder. So it doesn't matter how smart you are, how much money you have or how attractive you are. It's about being emotionally broken and constantly needing stimulation._

“D’you think Zayn’s a sex addict?” he says abruptly.

Oil considers this. “I think you'd know better than me, I'm not the one he goes to bed with.”

“Yeah, maybe I ought to go ask _Xander_ ,” Louis scoffs. He has another Safari tab open with pictures of Xander that he's been looking at to torment himself with -- he found out who he was by Googling _harry styles blond model boyfriend 2020._

“Ah, Louis…”

“Alright, alright. I know. Let's talk about anything else.”

 

BEVERLY HILLS, JUNE - JULY, 2020

The shock slowly wears off, and Louis is left with a tender ache, like a sprained muscle that runs the length of his body.

He sort of floats through his days, dropping both the kids off at a day camp program at the preschool where they make art all day and then heading off to writing sessions, label meetings, photoshoots, Starbucks, his friends’ houses, anything to keep him too busy to hang around his empty house.

He and Zayn try to keep things as normal as they can for the kids. They act perfectly polite in the brief moments they exchange in front of them, and Louis struggles to breathe normally as he pretends not to see the pained, longing looks Zayn keeps giving him. Zayn’s love hurts, because he can't trust it anymore -- it's a scalding pot of water he has to scramble out of, it's killing him.

The kids are pouty and surly about his absence, though; their behavior backslides, exhausting Louis further. He tells them that Zayn is just busy with work until it stretches plausibility, and then he sits them down for a difficult conversation where he explains sort of robotically, “Sometimes married people need time apart. Your dad and I are just taking a little break. We still love you both exactly the same as we always have, this has got nothing to do with you. Everything will be okay, I promise.”

Mia seems to understand this better than Amir does; he sleeps in a big boy bed now, but with Zayn gone he starts getting night terrors, waking Louis and Mia up every night with screams and sobs. Louis brings Amir into his bed to cuddle him back to sleep, reassuring him, and each following morning he wakes to Amir chirping in his ear, “Where's Daddy? When does Daddy come back?”

He feels horribly mixed-up and guilty about it. Some days he’s lonely enough to think about saying fuck it and just bringing Zayn home. He hates waking up alone, he hates losing the person he shared his life with. He's so wretchedly lonely and sad, he misses Zayn's voice and hands and smell.

But what stops him is the peace starting to grow in him. Deep inside, he feels bittersweet relief, and he knows it's because there's no way he's going to come home after a long day on working on the album and get in a row. Yeah, the kids are at a tantrum age, and to his great dismay they've begun fighting each other  -- but there are no knock-down-drag-out fights between two people who know each other so well they can cut to the bone in five words or less. There's no lingering guilt and woundedness dogging him for hours after. There's no lying awake wondering if the kids heard them yelling, staring at the ceiling, twisting his wedding band.

Louis still wears his. He picked it up from the floor where it bounced after he threw it at Zayn, and put it back on. He did pay a plumber eighty dollars an hour to fetch it from the sink, after all.

He does a different sort of lying and staring at the ceiling, now  -- lying on the floor smoking, listening to Amy Winehouse, his heart throbbing. Sometimes he still gets so bitterly angry at him that if the kids aren't home, he goes around doing damage -- smashing in a window on the Mystery Machine, kicking a hole in the wall of their walk-in closet.

Zayn, for his part, seems to be be doing well besides the obvious fact of missing Louis. He's moved up his sessions with Clark to twice a week, he's gotten on SSRIs, he's talking about going to rehab again and taking it seriously this time.

Louis encourages this. He wants him better, for the sake of the kids, at least.

 

LOS ANGELES, JULY 20, 2020

Louis is on his way out of a meeting at Syco when he runs into Perrie, who's saying hi to a lawyer he sort of recognizes.

She sees him, and he knows she sees him, so he pauses politely in the hall, waiting for her to finish up, looking out the window over downtown LA sprawled underneath them.

The two of them have been back in touch recently, texting periodically. It's hard to avoid each other when they're signed to the same label and always going to the same events -- especially now that Louis is back recording again.

“Thanks again!” Perrie calls after the lawyer, bracelets jingling as she waves, and he gives a thumbs up as he walks off. Louis turns to her, smiling.

“Hi,” she says, and her face is so grim with pained sympathy that he knows right away she knows.

“Hi,” he says. “Who told you?”

“Told me what?”

“I dunno, what all d’you know?”

“Big rumor going around that you're separated,” Perrie says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “So it's true, then?”

“Aye, yeah.”

She squeezes her arms to herself like a hug. She's probably cold -- they keep these top-floor offices frosty, and she's wearing a crop-top with her fringey pants. “I'm really sorry, Louis.”

He finds, suddenly, that he can't breathe or talk. The lump in his throat grows to massive proportions.

Perrie comes close to him, and Louis stumbles back, choking out, “It's alright.”

“No, no, c’mere --”

“I can't, like --” He clears his throat hard in an attempt to compose himself. “I can't -- I busted up your engagement, I can't ask you to comfort me, here --”

“Louis, it's been five years!” she exclaims. “I’m so much better off now, I'm really genuinely happy, and you're my friend, alright? So please let me hug you!”

Louis lets her hug him, holding her tight. She pats him on the back and kisses him on the cheek.

“You're being too nice to me, love…”

“No, I'm not, so shut up.”

He laughs breathily.

Perrie draws back from him, searching his face. “Look, I didn't -- it was sort of all fucked up, what happened. I didn't mind that you were with him. I felt, like --” She stops herself and sighs, then: “I felt like, better than someone else, right? At least you weren't in love with him, and I thought you could get him back on track, and then once the hiatus got going, me and him could, y’know -- rededicate ourselves. Maybe give it a real chance, for once, instead of both being on tour all the time, and him always sleeping with other people. Maybe actually get married. But…”

He swallows. “But…”

“Well, but then he left the band.” Perrie shrugs. “And he came home, and I thought -- well, here we are, let’s work on us. And out of the blue he goes, you're not being supportive enough, I can't do this anymore, and he dumped me. Then here I find out you’re pregnant, and he's madly in love with you. And then you're together, and you're getting married, and I just -- I dunno. Threw me for a loop, honestly.”

“Pez, I’m so sorry. I can't tell you how sorry.”

Perrie shrugs, smiling. “Really, it's okay. I'm so over it, I promise.”

“I'm glad,” he says, squeezing her arm. “I want you happy, I really, really do.”

“Well, I want you happy too,” she says gently.

Louis gives her a wan smile.

“What happened, if you don't mind my asking?”

He doesn't answer at first, and she guides him by the arm over to a soft bench in the sunshine. He rests his elbows on his knees and presses his clasped hands to his mouth.

“He cheated,” he mutters.

Perrie inhales -- softly, and with a small _oh_ sound -- and touches his shoulder. “God,” she says. 

“I’m sure this comes as a massive shock to you,” he says drily.

“Oh, Louis… Was it like, an affair, or?”

“Nah, not at all. Just one random little -- just this little slip with some total stranger.”

She nods. 

“It was so weird,” he says. “I've got no idea why he did it. Hurt me that bad for a minute of pleasure. Not out of love, or anything. Clearly regretted it, ran home and told me about it...”

“I don't get it, either.”

“Just -- he’s had this drinking problem, for a while now. And it's just -- was that somethin’ you ever noticed? ‘Cos it wasn't a problem in the band, really, until the end there.”

She shakes her head. “It wasn't a thing with him, no. I mean, he drank, you all drank. We all drink, people like us, but it was a normal amount. Just blowing off steam. I was so shocked when I found out he went to rehab.”

“I think he's been self-medicating,” Louis mutters. “I think, like, leaving the band, going solo, being married to me, having two babies so young, it threw him ‘round the bend with his anxiety and everything. I feel sort of responsible.”

“It's _so_ not your fault.”

“I, like, _dared_ him to cheat,” he says, his voice catching. “I goaded ‘im. I felt like it was an inevitability. Maybe he just finally gave in. Wanted to get it over with.”

“Louis, no. It had nothing to do with you.”

“How didn't it?”

“I know it's hard,” she says gently, “but that's the first thing you have to accept, is, like -- it really, seriously had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with him. If there were problems in your relationship with like, trust, things like that, it would be okay for him to confront you, or to be upset, or whatever, but it's not okay for him to just decide to go outside the bounds of your relationship.”

Louis inhales. “You think he'd do it again?”

She shrugs. “Couldn't say. I don't know him anymore, I'm sure he's changed in five years. I know he really loves you and the kids. I hear that from everybody -- oh, Zayn loves his kids, he's such a good dad.”

“He is,” he murmurs.

“But after the first time with us, he swore to me he'd stop, and he didn't, and after a while I sort of just accepted it.”

“Thing is,” he says hoarsely, “I told him if he ever did this, even once, I'd leave him. Seemed dead simple when I said it. I knew -- I was already insecure with him, I knew cheating was the one thing I couldn't stand, the one thing that'd break me heart. But now, I'm like -- making up reasons not to leave him. I do love him, still.”

“You have to do what's best for you and your kids. There's no easy choice, here.”

“You're right. There's not.”

This, as obvious as it is, hadn't occurred to him before. Either choice will cause terrible pain to him. Secretly he's been seeking a way for things to go back to the way they were before, for all of this mess to be undone, so he can go back to Zayn with a clear conscience and no fear of being hurt. But this is, of course, impossible. Even this most recent hurt is just the tip of an iceberg -- their entire marriage was built atop a swamp of buried hurt and and suspicion on both sides. They're two sensitive people who had to forgive each other before they were ready to. He feels like their marriage is a stripped screw, and he doesn't know how to fix it.

“It's up to you whether or not to believe him. But trust me, the second time hurts even worse, because you feel so stupid and lied to.”

Louis exhales, his gut clenching. “Yeah. He told me the drinking would stop, and he keeps breaking that. And I’m torn, ‘cos I know it's not really him, the drinking, that he's just, like -- whatever he's feeling is so much that he can't handle it. But it all comes down to the same thing.”

Perrie nods. “Trust.”

He rubs at his beard. “Yeah. I don't trust him.”

She laces her hands in her lap. “Zayn needs somebody, I think, who's really -- ah…”

“Not insecure?”

“Let me finish! But yeah, maybe. Somebody who's kind of full of themselves, who'd take him in a strong hand, make him feel very secure because _they're_ so secure --”

A suit walks by, and she hushes up for a moment.

“Like, I think you both love each other so much that you need constant reassurance from the other, and it's like, this feedback loop that collapses.” She gestures to punctuate this. “He's a weirdly insecure person, Zayn.”

They go quiet for a moment.

“Y’know, I’m pure glad I ran into you,” he says, reaching over and squeezing her knee.

“Me too!”

“I’ve been picking everyone's brain about this, but like…”

Perrie grins and taps her temple. “This was the brain you really wanted to pick, right?”

Louis laughs. “I mean, honestly, yeah.”

 

BEVERLY HILLS, JULY 30, 2020

“You're _very_ tight,” Sonya says, digging her fingers deeper into a spasming spot in his back.

Louis winces, burying his face against the massage table and squeezing his eyes shut. “Aww, I'm always tight.”

She laughs. “You are, but this is the worst you've been in a while.”

“Right… lot going on.”

“Try to take a few deep breaths for me.”

He complies, then turns his head to the side, and in the bedroom doorway is Zayn. Zayn gives a tiny smile and knocks, even though he's already seen him.

“Hey,” Louis says. “Thought you were dropping them off later.”

“I was.” Zayn leans against the arch, all slinky. He's changed his hair again. “Forgot I have a meeting tonight, sorry.”

Sonya stops massaging him, and he sits up, tugging the sheet over himself. He thinks briefly of how he used to lay on the bed in this room while Zayn rubbed him, his strong hands moving Louis’ muscles like water, how he would lean down and press kisses to his bare skin.

“That alright?” Zayn says.

“Uh, yeah,” Louis mutters. “I’m having some people over in a bit, to listen to the album -- the producers, and everyone -- but I planned for the kids to get back in the middle of that, so I reckon it doesn't matter anyway…”

Zayn nods slowly, not looking at him, running his knuckle along the door. “Love to hear what you've got so far.”

Louis inhales with difficulty. He feels so raw and exposed. He wishes he was clothed. “Zayn, I -- I can't.”

“I get it.”

“I just can't be around you, still.”

Zayn nods. “Got it. Yeah. Kids are in their room.”

“Alright. We were just finishing up here.”

“I'll head out, then. See you.”

He turns, mussing the hair on the back of his head as he walks away. Louis watches him go. He can feel the tightness in his jaw.

Sonya studies him, her eyebrows lifting very slightly. “Want me to keep going?”

“No,” Louis murmurs. “I’m -- I’m good. Thanks, Sonya.”

“Okay. I'll let you get dressed.”

 

*

 

Mia and Amir are completely quiet through the ten songs he's recorded so far, which is unheard of for them. Louis keeps glancing over at them in the dark, but they just sit there, perched on the couch, listening.

The last track they play is so bare -- just his voice and a piano, with a bit of strings. He was terrified to do it that way, he didn't think he could pull it off. But when it ends, Shawn wipes his eyes, and Yvonne next to him whispers, “Shit.”

“That's beautiful, Louis,” says his producer, Marc. “Really. Some real shit. I loved your first album, but this is… this has guts. It's adult.”

Louis nudges at his nose with a knuckle. “You think the fans will like it?”

“Ohh, yeah,” everyone choruses.

“Absolutely,” Shawn says.

Someone claps him on the back. Louis smiles genuinely for the first time in a few days.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, JULY 15, 2020

Louis is driving back to the house to pick up his laptop, half-listening to the radio when the news breaks in.

“... if you noticed the helicopters circling the area, police say Beverly Hills preschool _Les Petits Apprenants_ is on lockdown due to what appears to be an active gunman situation. No further details as of yet --”

His entire body is drenched in cold shock. He cuts across three lanes of traffic to pull an illegal U-ie, his sweaty palms slipping on the steering wheel. He punches the phone button on the Bluetooth dashboard. “Call Zayn!”

“Calling Zayn…”

It only takes him two rings to pick up. “‘Lo?”

“It’s me, I don't want you to freak out, but there's something going on at the kids’ school, can you get down here?”

“What d’you mean, something?”

“It's on lockdown.” Louis chooses not to use the word gunman. He doesn't want Zayn getting in a car wreck driving down here -- he's going fast enough, himself.

“ _What_?” Louis can hear the panic in his voice. “Is it a drill?”

“No, it's not a drill. Where are you?”

“At my rental, mate!”

“How fast can you get down here?”

“Five minutes?”

“Okay, head out! I'm already on my way --”

“Alright, alright!”

 

*

 

Louis parks in a loading zone and barrels out of the car. He sees plenty of familiar faces, the same parents he always sees when he picks the kids up at the end of day camp, waiting at a barricade.

A cop stops him when he reaches it, pushing him back. Louis blinks at him in a daze. Barricades don't usually apply to him.

“Please, sir, behind the barrier,” the cop says.

“Are you fucking -- my _kids_ are in there!”

“Everyone’s kids are in there. We have the situation under control. We --”

“There they are!” a mum next to him screams, and he turns to see Krista walking the kids in a single-file line out the back door, herding them toward their parents. Parents begin bursting past the police, yelling names, and children start running toward them -- in the pandemonium, Louis dashes past the cop, desperately searching the crowd for two little heads of ink-black hair. He sees them finally, bringing up the rear, and pelts himself at them, skinning his knees and tearing his jeans as he falls to the asphalt and collars the both of them, pulling them in close.

“Daddy,” Mia says, her voice muffled in his shirt. “What's wrong?”

Louis, shaky with spent adrenaline, assures her, “Nothing, sweetie, just happy to see you.”

“I can't breathe,” Amir complains.

“Sorry, sorry, love.” He pulls back from the,, and kisses him on the head.

“I made sure everyone kept quiet like they taught us,” Mia says proudly. “I told Katie S. to shut her face. She kept crying.”

“Katie S.? Your best friend?”

“No, June is my best friend now. But Katie isn't mad at me. She coming over tomorrow.”

A cop walks by, heading toward the school building.

“What happened?” Louis barks at him.

The cop glances uneasily down at the kids. “It was nothing,” he says. “No injuries. We believe that a teacher, um… locked herself in her office with a --” He mouths _firearm._ “But the kids were never in danger. The situation’s resolved, she's in our custody now.”

Louis exhales heavily. “Thanks, mate. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Can I get my drawing?” Amir says. “I left it.”

“No, love, we're gonna go on home,” Louis says, wiping his eyes, and he scoops him up, taking Mia by the hand. “First I gotta find your dad --”

He makes his way through the throng of other parents and spots Zayn parked in the same loading zone, racing toward them like a maniac up the grass, chain glinting around his neck.

“Zayn!” he shouts. “I've got them!”

A sweating, frantic Zayn collides with them, wrapping his arms around Louis and Amir, and Louis lets him, grateful for his embrace.

“What happened?” he says, pulling back. His dark eyes surgically scour Louis’ face for information _._

“Nothing,” Louis says, gazing back at him. “Nothing. They were never in any danger, they're fine.”

Zayn exhales in relief, tousling Mia’s hair.

“We don't have to go back, right?” Mia chirps. “Today was boring. We had to use charcoals. My fingers are dirty.”

“No, baby, we're going home now,” Louis says. “Wanna join us, Zayn?”

Zayn studies him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah… Hey, go get in the car, kids, I'll be along in a sec.”

They trundle off, and Louis slips his hands into his pockets. “Look, you're obviously upset… I'm a bit shook up, too, so yeah, come over and visit for a while, stay with the kids.”

“Alright,” Zayn murmurs, rubbing up and down Louis’ arm. “I'll meet you back at the house.”

 

*

 

Zayn notices Louis’ skinned knees when they all settle down in the sitting room. He goes to fetch a first aid kid, douses him with Neosporin and sits there picking bits of gravel out while the kids watch Nickelodeon on the TV above the fireplace.

Louis watches him work. He’s missed the gentleness of his hands.

“Daddy, our school’s on the news,” Mia says.

Louis glances up. There's a shot of the school in a two-box with the faculty photo of the teacher who brought the gun, and a sensationalist super beneath it: POLICE: PRESCHOOL TEACHER BROUGHT GUN TO SCHOOL, and beneath it, PLANNED TO COMMIT SUICIDE IN HER OFFICE. After a moment, it switches back to a shot of a grim police press conference.

“Mia!” he exclaims. “Turn that off! What're you doing, watching the news!”

“You let us watch the news,” Mia objects.

“Not when there's _that_ on,” he says, leaning over to grab the remote away and switching it back to cartoons.

“Daddy!”

“Mia,” Amir whines, “I wanna watch cartoons.”

“It was about us, though!” Mia says.

Zayn shakes his head, smiling to himself.

“I hate America,” Louis mutters. “All these fuckin’ guns… fuckin’ country of lunatics, shootin’ each other up all day, bringing guns to a school, scaring the piss out of everyone…”

“I feel sorry for her,” Zayn says. “Have to be pretty disturbed to do something like that. Deep breath, here's a big one…”

Louis sucks in air between his teeth as Zayn digs a bloody chunk of gravel out of his knee.

“Ow,” he murmurs.

“I think that's it,” Zayn says, spraying his knee again and digging around in the kit for a plaster.

“Thanks, Dr. Malik.”

They smile at each other.

Zayn sticks around all afternoon and evening. Louis can't bear to tell him to leave, not after the scare they had, and the kids are so happy to have the four of them together again.

For their sake, Louis pushes everything from his head for a while. It helps that Zayn is so apologetic and tender with him. He laughs at every joke Louis makes, even the ones that are barely funny, he gives him the gentlest touches on the hips and shoulders. When they all go out and play a bit of football in the setting sun, Louis watches him -- the crinkling of his eyes as he laughs with Mia, how his dark hair shines -- and his busted heart throbs.

At bedtime Zayn reads to them while Louis sits on the floor, watching them doze off, and when they're finally asleep, they step gingerly into the hall, shutting the lights off behind them.

Louis expects Zayn to head out, then, but he lingers, gazing half-lidded at him in the dark hallway.

“What's up?” Louis murmurs.

Zayn leans in to kiss him deep on the mouth. Louis wants to pull away, but he hasn't been touched in so long. He goes soft in his arms and sinks against him, their torsos pressed together, warm and familiar.

“Zayn,” he murmurs.

Zayn knows exactly what he's doing -- he doesn't hesitate while maneuvering Louis down the hall into their bedroom, undressing them both with quick hands as they stagger toward the bed, laying him down across the sheets, snogging him deep and sucking at his bottom lip the way he likes.

Louis is horny and terribly lonely, and he's missed Zayn like mad, so he doesn't at any point put a stop to this, although he really probably should. It was enough for him to kick the door closed as they were stumbling away from it.

“God,” Louis gasps, his chest heaving as Zayn starts to finger him.

“Sorry if I come fast,” Zayn murmurs, kissing up his throat. “I'm pent-up…”

“Nah, me too...”

In the dark, he sees Zayn’s arm stretch out to the bedside table and grab the lube, and then the slick sound of him applying it, and then he's sliding inside Louis, reaching him deeply, and Louis is moaning, shifting so his cock is pressed to the length of Zayn’s hipbone.

Zayn starts to fuck him. It feels so good, he tries to shut his brain off -- but then it flashes behind his eyes, an image of Xander’s stupid pouting face, oh God, Zayn’s cock’s been in him, it's been _inside_ him, same as Harry's -- did they use a condom ? --

He lets out a choked, pained noise, and Zayn asks if he's going too hard and slows his hips. Louis nods, pretending like that's what bothered him.

“Missed you,” Zayn murmurs in his ear. Louis feels that lump in his throat again. That fucking lump. He can't get out of his head. He tries to settle back into his body.

“Touch me,” he whispers, and Zayn obediently begins to stroke his cock, kissing him as he thrusts.

Louis fades out again, lets his body take over. Their bodies know very well what to do with each other. It's old habit by now.

Zayn comes after about five minutes, groaning softly in his ear then pulling wetly out of him so he can finish Louis off with his mouth. Louis closes his eyes, focusing on nothing but orgasm until he's bucking his hips off the bed and sighing. He gets one blissful second of his mind going totally blank, and then he opens his eyes again to see Zayn wiping his lips with a tissue.

Louis finds himself being rolled onto his side and spooned by Zayn, who kisses all over the back of his neck. He finds himself numb and empty. This isn't right, this isn't how it should feel.

“Hey,” Zayn murmurs, giving him one more wet kiss and then nuzzling him. “You're quiet.”

“I haven't forgiven you,” Louis says with difficulty.

He sighs, his breath hot on Louis’ neck. “What do I have to do to help us get over this? I've sent you gifts, cards, I've told you how sorry I am --”

“I can't just decide to forgive you. I’ve still got a lot of thinking to do.”

Zayn's arms close more tightly around him. “Can't you do it with me here at home?”

Louis shrugs out of his grasp and shimmies onto his back. Zayn sits up, gazing at him in the dark, searching him.

“We haven't even _talked_ about it,” Louis whispers.

“There's nothing to talk about,” he says sharply, “‘cos it meant nothing, it was with a stranger, and I told you everything right away!”

“Married people don't do that, Zayn! Normal, happy people don't do that! What's so awful about me that you've got to act out the way you do?”

“Nothing’s awful about you!” His voice cracks. “I love you! I want -- I want to be with you!”

“You don't act like somebody who wants to be married!”

“Well, what d’you fucking want from me!”

“I want to be with someone who makes me feel safe!” Louis cries, aching with hurt.

Zayn rubs his hand over his face, looking exasperated.

“D’you -- fine, I miss me freedom,” he snaps. “We both do. That doesn't mean -- look, I had one little slip, I ran home and told you!”

“Why did you?”

“Huh?”

Louis sits up against the pillows, blinking in the dark. “Why’d you tell me? Volunteer it like you did? With your drinking, you don't do that, you make me pull it out of you.”

Zayn shrugs.

“Tell me the truth, alright? Just tell me the truth.”

Zayn looks away, his jaw set hard. “I thought Harry knew what ‘appened,” he muttered. “I thought he was gonna tell you. I wanted to get to you first.”

Anger and prickly hurt pour over Louis. “ _That's_ why you told me?”

“No -- it's not the only --”

“Would you have told me, otherwise?”

“Yeah!”

“How long would it’ve taken?”

Zayn is silent, staring into middle space.

“Would you ever have? Or would you've kept doing it? Since you’d already gotten away with it? Would you’ve gone bigger, started having affairs?”

He hears the awful, shrill pain in his voice, and he hates it.

“I felt awful, Louis,” Zayn says hoarsely. “Absolutely awful. I regretted it straight away.”

“ _Has_ anything else ever happened?” He regrets asking almost instantly. He doesn't really want to know.

Zayn gnaws at his full bottom lip. “Nothing serious,” he mutters. “I kissed that bird Elyse. Durin’ that New Year’s thing at the label last year, the one you didn't want to come to.”

Louis closes his eyes, exhaling.

“It was just a little -- we were tipsy, she caught me putting me coat away on the bed and took me by the face and kissed me. For a little -- just a moment. It was so stupid. And, ah… a bit after that, she sent me nudes, so I blocked her number. I didn't want to tell you, I knew you'd think it meant more than it did.”

"Did you stop her?"

Zayn looks like he doesn't understand.

"Did you stop the kiss," he says, his heart aching.

"I mean, yeah."

"Did anything else like that ever happen?"

"Not really..."

"Not really or no?"

"No," Zayn says, after a moment.

"You sure? You lying to me?"

"Louis --"

"You cheat on me when you were touring? What about since we've been separated? What about when I was pregnant with Mia?" His voice wavers. "Did you cheat on me when I was pregnant?"

"Love, please -- no, Christ --"

“Know what? I think you should go.”

“Louis,” Zayn begs, crawling toward him. “You don't get how people treat me, mate --”

“I don't know what it's like to be dehumanized?” Louis snaps at him, moving away. “Objectified? Fucking come on! Unbelievable!”

“But you know how bad I get it, come on, everyone's always touching me, coming onto me, I’ve said no a million times since I got with you, I never considered it, I just slipped, I was upset, I had to get out of me head --”

“Go,” Louis says, swallowing. “Please go. Stop talking. Please.”

“I’d forgive you, if this happened with you,” Zayn says, over the sound of fabric against fabric as he pulls his jeans on, his belt clinking. “I’d forgive you. Why don't you go fuck somebody, and then we’ll be even?”

“Let's pretend that's even true, you an’ me ain't the same, -- and I don't wanna just go fuck someone! I -- God, can you just -- the kids are gonna hear --”

“Sorry,” Zayn whispers, standing up, putting his watch back on. “This is killing me, Tommo, I just want this to be over, I can't stand this limbo --”

“Give me time!”

Zayn stands there in the dark, a slim shadow, a ghost. “Alright,” he says. “Fine. More time. Um, look -- I’m about to go into rehab again.”

Louis inhales. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Gonna make a real go of it.”

“Good. I'm glad.”

“I've been doing a lot better,” he says, more softly. “Even though -- this.”

“Yeah. Me too. I've missed you, but -- me too.”

“Clark thinks it's been a lot of pressure. For both of us.”

“‘Course it has,” Louis murmurs. “We didn't exactly get married in the easiest circumstances. Hasn't been easy on me. I know it hasn't been easy on you.” He takes a long, difficult pause. “I can't be the easiest person to be married to.”

“Oh, Louis,” Zayn says in a strained voice. “‘S’not -- don't say that, alright? Don't say that shit.”

“Alright. Sorry.”

He clears his throat. “I'm gonna head out.”

“Get home safe,” Louis calls softly after him, and he puts a hand up in acknowledgment. Then he's gone, and Louis is left sitting alone in the wet spot.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, AUGUST 30, 2020

“I do kind of like -- well, wait,” Lou says, “let me try the other one again.”

Lottie slides a glass of grapefruit kiwi juice across the island, past the large tray of catering samples.

She takes a sip. “Eurgh, never mind.”

“I like the hibiscus cucumber thing,” Oli says.

“I'm not too fussed,” Louis says. “Whatever's the least offensive. What's with these sandwiches, do they smell funny to you?”

“No?” Lottie says. “They smell fine.”

He drums his fingers on the island. “Look, it's all good. It's not a big deal. Whatever you lot like, I'll tell them to make that tomorrow.”

“It should be what _you_ like!” Lou exclaims. “It's your listening party.”

He flaps his hand. It's hard for him to concentrate on details lately; he's been worn-down and a bit moody. He's been chalking it up to the fact that his and Zayn’s anniversary is approaching, and not only are they still estranged, but Zayn's been in rehab.

They’ve spoken a few times on the phone since he's been in. It's hard for them not to argue, and he's not supposed to be fighting with Zayn or getting him riled up, it makes it harder for him to get better, so they just have terse, depressing little conversations about the kids.

“Here, try this,” Lou says, offering him some prosciutto off the charcuterie plate.

Louis puts it in his mouth. His stomach lurches in disgust, but he plays it off, trying to chew it without tasting. “Good,” he lies. “I'm gonna, um -- I just realized I've got to call Shawn, sorry --”

He knows they're staring at him as he leaves the room, but he can't slow down as he hurries away and rushes up the stairs into one of the guest bathrooms, barely making it to the toilet in time before he throws up.

“What the fuck,” he groans.

Suspicion crawls up his spine and into his head like a scorpion.

“No, no, no.” He sits there, wiping his mouth, his heart pounding with fear as the pieces begin to fit together. “No, no. I'll put me head in the fuckin’ oven, no --”

He gets to his feet and staggers down the hall to the master bedroom, into the bathroom and the medicine cabinet, fumbling for an old box of ClearBlue tests he bought when he had a scare last year.

“I have a fucking IUD,” Louis hisses to himself as he leans over the toilet, test in one hand and cock in the other. “I'm fine, it's fine, I can't be --”

There's a soft knock at the door. “Tommo?” calls Oli.

“I'm fine!”

“You wanna let me in?”

Louis finishes, frantically does up his fly and sets the test on the sink. “It's not locked!”

Oli comes in and surveys the scene -- the pregnancy tests box on the floor, Louis’ ashen face. “Alright?” he says.

Louis rinses off his hand and turns so his back is against the cabinets, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor, his forehead resting on his knees like he's a kid. He slips a hand up under his shirt, rubbing at his nipples, trying to tell if they feel sensitive to the touch. They do.

Oli settles down on the floor beside him, a hand to his shoulder.

“I think I might be pregnant,” Louis mutters.

He sucks in air. “Oh, shit. Wait, wait, no, you can't be, right? You and Zayn’ve been separated for months and months…”

Louis inhales. “When the kids’ school was on lockdown, me and him both had a scare over it, and I invited him over, and we... yeah.”

“Oh,” Oli says grimly.

“And I feel like I am. I feel the same way I did, both times. Think I've just been in denial ‘til I had to run up here and puke, and then I twigged.” He snaps his fingers, then swallows and looks up. “I never puke, you know me, never, ‘cept when I'm hungover or knocked up.”

“But you've got that thing, haven't you? That ring? Merina, Mornoona? Madonna?”

Louis lets out a breathy laugh. “I was supposed to go get a check-up with the gyno earlier this year, and I skipped it. Thought it wasn't a big deal, they're supposed to last for like, five years… God, I'm a fuckin’ idiot. This can't happen. I don't know if I even want to get back together with him. I wanted to tour this album, I wanted to be a person for once... I can't have another baby, I really can't.”

They sit there in silence for a while, Oli continuing to grip his shoulder.

“It's probably done by now,” Louis murmurs. “Can you look at it? I can't.”

Oli obliges, grabbing the test of the counter. He lets out a soft exhale, and Louis knows what it must say.

He lifts his head, and Oli tilts it in his direction. Sure enough. _Pregnant_.

“Fuck,” he mutters, then gets to his feet and kicks the cabinets. “ _Fuck_! Fuck fuck fuck!”

“Louis, Louis…”

Louis looks up at him, swallowing, pushing his hair back out of his face. “Could you send my sister up here? I'm sorry, lad, I just --”

“Yeah, no problem.” Oli squeezes his arm. “Hey, it's all gonna be fine, no matter what happens, you know?”

He nods and nods.

 

LOS ANGELES, AUGUST 31, 2020

Louis stares up at the depressing white acoustic ceiling as he lies there in the ultrasound chair, waiting for Evelin to get back with his bloodwork. These ceilings always remind him of being in school. In the lunchroom, he was always trying to toss pencils high enough to get them stuck in the tiles.

He shifts on the chair, making the paper crinkle loudly in the otherwise quiet room. He wasn't expecting an ultrasound, but she suggested one after he told her how far long he probably was -- six weeks -- counting backwards in his head until that night.

He wishes Zayn were here to hold his hand and keep him company. On one hand, he doesn't really want him -- he keeps remembering the anguished look Zayn got when he talked about having an abortion before, like it was a deeply personal rejection. He thinks if he told Zayn about this, he'd bat his eyelashes, promise to be better, swear he'll never hurt him again, touch Louis with those hands of his, make him forget himself.

And who else is going to touch him like that? He chokes up, thinking about it. How can he leave Zayn? He already threw away Eleanor. He threw away Liam. What are the odds he'll ever get that lucky again? Who else is going to love him, when he's this broken-down, depressive, chainsmoking, snappish shell of himself, twenty-nine with two young kids?

But if he stays with him, if he has this baby, and Zayn cheats again, his heart is going to burst out of his chest. He couldn't handle that level of rejection. He couldn't bear it. He doesn't even know if he can bear what he's already borne.

Evelin comes back in, returning to his side in her white coat, smiling. She's pleasant to look at -- bosomy, kind-faced, dimple-cheeked -- not necessarily his type, but nice to be around.

“Hi, Louis,” she says, and hands him a sheet of paper. “So, it looks like you're six weeks pregnant, as you suspected.”

Louis stares at it. The print begins to blur. He can't seem to focus on any specific line.

“Okay,” he says with difficulty. “Thanks, love.”

She reaches out and squeezes his wrist. “I know this must be hard,” she whispers. “You said you and your husband are separated, right?”

He nods.

“Like I told you before, you do have options.”

Louis lies back. The ceiling tiles melt together as he blinks. “Really only got the two, though, haven't I? Have it or don't.”

“Yes,” she says, delicately. “That's true. I know abortion isn't for everyone --”

“I'm not against it,” he says. “I'm really not. I just, um. It's me husband’s baby, and we're going through a tough time. So it's a bit difficult.”

“I totally understand. You should go home, process this and give me a call when you've made a decision. Do you still want me to do the ultrasound?”

“Yeah.” He breathes out shakily. “Uh, so what d’you reckon happened with my IUD, then?”

She explains to him how she thinks it may have dislodged a bit and moved around, and how she's going to look for it during the ultrasound so she can take it out. While she talks, he’s  imagining lying on a table while she vacuums his fetus out of him. Imagines the profound, intense relief he'd feel, the spasms of guilt and grief, the lingering empty sadness. Wouldn't be any Zayn there to hold his hand and comfort him. He's still in rehab for another month.

“Louis?”

Her voice breaks through his thoughts, and he blinks at her, nodding.

Evelin squeezes his shoulder. “Let’s get started, then.”

He lifts his shirt up to expose his still-flat stomach, and she presses the wand to him, always so cold. Louis lies his head back against the seat and watches the doppler, a numb sensation spreading up from his fingertips into his hands.

 

BEVERLY HILLS, SEPTEMBER 6, 2020

Zayn calls on their anniversary.

Louis is at Zack’s birthday party with the kids, watching a bunch of well-dressed little children try to hit a piñata as the posh mums and dads around him drink frozen rosé. He turned down the glass he was offered -- even though he's fairly certain he's not keeping the baby, it still feels somehow irresponsible to drink. He's so queasy, anyway, it doesn't really matter.

When his phone starts to buzz, he walks away from the shady patio back into the house, where he can look out the all-glass walls of sitting room and keep an eye on Mia and Amir as they wait in line for their turn at the stick. Mia has a gleam in her eye, like she's convinced she's going to be the one to bust it open.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, taking a seat in a white wingback chair, hoping the muddy paw print Bo left on his jeans earlier isn't getting transferred to the fabric.

“Hey,” Zayn says. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, babe.”

“I had something dropped off at the house. The bloke said you'd already left by the time he got there.”

“You didn't have to… I didn't get you anything --”

“‘S’alright.”

“How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Zayn says. “Really good. Hey, look, I wanted to get it all squared away before I told you, and I just did today. I'm doing this, like, spiritual retreat when I get out of here, and I'm gonna film a documentary with a little crew from Vice. Going to a few different countries, going to talk with, like, spiritual people, get some wisdom, just sort of get grounded before I've got to, y'know. Jump back into things in LA.”

Louis’ throat locks up. Even more time away from each other. He's really going to be alone on this baby thing, either way. He can't tell him over the phone like this, and if he tells him after he gets out of rehab, he'll want to stay home. The last thing he wants is to fuck up Zayn’s recovery again.

“Okay,” he says softly. “If you think you need to.”

“Yeah, I -- I mean, I miss the kids like crazy, obviously, but I want to be me best self when I'm done with all this. For them. For good, y’know. Make a clean start. And I feel like my head’s already a lot clearer.”

“That’s fantastic, mate, I'm really glad. You're not leaving straight away, are you?”

“I leave that morning, an’ my flight leaves in the evening,” he says. “So I’ll come by, say goodbye to you lot.”

“Alright.”

“I know we've got a lot to talk about, still,” Zayn mutters. “I just want to -- I’ve got some work left to do on myself. As much as this has helped me, there's things I can't do inside a treatment center. I need to get back in touch with reality, the things that matter.”

“I know, I know. Hey, do what you have to do, alright?” He picks at a tear in the knee of his jeans. They're the same ones he wore the day of the lockdown, he realizes, the ones Zayn tore off him that night.

“How was your listening party?”

Louis smiles. “Good. Really good. I'm really proud of the record.”

“That's fantastic. I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“And I'm not gonna be abroad forever,” Zayn assures him. “Two months, max. If you're worried about your tourin’ schedule, or whatever.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I wasn't. That wouldn't be until next year. I've been getting along fine with the promo so far. Using Ingrid a lot, but they're back in school soon.”

“Right,” Zayn murmurs. “Fuck. I'm gonna miss their first day.”

“Shit, I didn't realize… Look, Amir’s only starting preschool, it's glorified daycare, y’know?”

“Yasmeen’s starting kindergarten, though.”

“I know. Get out for the day if you want, but you getting well is the most important. They won't remember any of this shit, but they need their dad, alright? That's the most important bit.”

“They'll remember me not being there,” he says softly. “They will.”

Louis picks at a bit of lint on his shirt, then cups his hand to his stomach for a fleeting moment.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and looks up through the glass at the backyard. Mia is swinging at the piñata now, blindfolded but determined. She stumbles into Amir, who quickly turns her back in the right direction before letting her go. Louis grins at this. His kids are clever little cheats, sometimes.

“Is it?”

“Zayn, you're not a bad dad. I've told you that a million times. You're not. Missing this wouldn't make you one. They'll understand when they're older.”

“I know.”

Louis shifts in the chair. His back’s begun to ache. “Listen, I'm gonna get back to it, I snuck away from the party to talk to you, they're gonna think I'm in here lifting the silverware…”

Zayn laughs. “Alright, love.”

“Get better, yeah?”

“Doing just that.”

Louis rings off, feeling terribly sad for no reason in particular.

 

LOS ANGELES, SEPTEMBER 8, 2020

Louis and Niall both sign up to play an impromptu charity concert for a hurricane that's just struck Florida, and for the first time in a while he actually manages to forget about everything. He's just sweaty and tired, working hard, surrounded by people to talk to and things to be distracted by. He gets so into his song that he doesn't realize until the end of it that the sun has gone down while he was performing.

It's only later, when everyone's hanging out backstage and Louis has to keep turning down glasses of champagne, that reality begins to slowly creep back in.

More and more people head out, and he wants to grab them and stop each and every one of them. _Don't leave, please stay._

Eventually it's him alone at the bar with Niall and Ellie, just shooting the shit. He's drinking a Coke that he's been nursing as if it's a rum and Coke, so no one asks why he isn't drinking like usual.

And then Ellie leaves, giving Niall a kiss on the cheek as she goes. Louis watches them in the low purple light, smiling distantly.

Niall turns to him. “How's tricks?”

Louis laughs. “Tricks?”

“I'm practicin’ my American.”

“Tricks is alright. You've been hearing about my tricks, lad, we just spent an hour talking shop.”

Niall ducks his gaze to Louis’ fingers wrapped around his glass.

Louis follows his eyeline. Oh, his wedding ring. His stomach flips.

“Right,” he mutters. “Maybe I ought to take that off.”

Niall studies his face. “Why? You leaving him?”

Louis inhales.

“Sorry. I just thought you look sort of, dunno, resolved about somethin’.”

“Aww,” he murmurs. “I thought I was managing to be fun and happy for once.”

“You were! You were. Just, now --”

“Now that all the people are gone.” Louis puts his head down against his arms where they're folded on the bar. He peeks over at Niall.

“Maybe it'd be for the best,” Niall says gently. “It seems like you're both doing better, now. I mean, you're sad, but it's in a way where like -- it's sort o’ calmer? Like, before, when you and him would fight, you were so --”

“Niall,” Louis gently interrupts, “I'm pregnant.”

Niall stutters himself into silence. “Oh.”

“It's Zayn's,” he says. “Obviously. We had a little reunion.”

Niall sighs in sympathy. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Well, lesse… if I keep it, I have to take him back.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Nah, I can't. I can't be a single dad with two young kids and a newborn. I haven't got it in me. I'm already -- these last months, and when Zayn was on tour, I got a taste of it, and that's with kids who sleep through the night, they're potty-trained, all that.”

“He could move back in, but not be with you.”

“I’d lose me resolve, then. It's different, when I'm pregnant -- I’d be all needy and I’d run right back to him, and we'd get into the same old patterns. That's the other thing, I can't saddle Zayn with another baby, now. I don't even want to saddle myself with another baby, ‘cos my career's going so well, but he's like -- he's finally getting better, he's out from under all the pressure for a minute. I think it’d set him back. It's so much stress.”

Niall reaches out with his palm, face-up, and Louis lays his hand in his. They just sit there, holding hands. Niall’s hands are nice; square and warm and calloused.

“So then why do I sort of hate the idea of getting an abortion?” Louis says throatily.

“‘Cos I think you feel like you'd be admitting it's really over.”

Louis hesitates, his breath catching. “I think -- I think it is. I love him, but --”

He breaks off, shaking his head.

“C’mere, c’mere.” Niall drops off his stool and wraps Louis up in a hug.

A janitor for the venue comes by, sweeping up confetti and things. Louis says hello to him over Niall’s shoulder in a small voice. He waves hi and quickly moves on to another room.

Louis pulls back. “I've got to go home and cut the nanny loose,” he says. “And you ought to get home to Ellie.”

Niall laughs. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“Nah, just don't want you neglecting your manly duties.”

“Hey,” Niall says, squeezing his bicep. “You know you've got so many people who love you, right? And you know Zayn's always gonna love you. No matter what he did, no matter what happens with the two o’ you, he'll always love you and those kids t’ death.”

“I hope so.”

“I know,” Niall says gently. “Look, you can love the hell out of somebody and still not be able to be with them anymore. We both know that. Doesn't mean they don't have a place in your life, or in your heart. Doesn't erase all the good times. Just… life goes on, you know? And it's too short t’ spend unhappy.”

“Hey, Neil,” Louis says with a teary, appreciative laugh, “I've done enough crying this year, so why don't you go on home and fuck your girlfriend before I've got to do any more?”

He socks him gently on the arm, and in exchange, Niall kisses him tenderly on the forehead. “Roger that,” he says in an American accent.

“That actually wasn't half bad!”

He grins.

They start walking out together, tailed by security, and as Niall pushes the creaky door to the car park open, he turns back to Louis. “Hey, I dunno if you and Liam are in touch, but it might be worth givin’ him a call --”

“Nah, trust me, bad idea.”

They step out into the cool night air. Niall stops in his tracks, and they awkwardly dance around each other as Louis tries to stop his own momentum.

“Just ‘cos he's been going through this same thing,” he says.

Louis pushes his hair back. “I haven't fully decided I'm gonna leave him, mate.”

Niall puts his hands up. “Alright.”

“I haven't talked to Liam in a while, actually,” he murmurs.

“Don't take it personally. He's been laying low.”

The night air makes Louis crave a cigarette. He lights one without thinking about it, listening to laughter from some drunk people at the far end of the car park.

“Is he doing okay?” he says, meeting Niall’s eyes.

Niall shrugs. “Better now than he was before. ‘S’been what, six months since the divorce?”

“Shit,” Louis says. “Has it really? ‘Cos that means me and Zayn’ve been separated for five...”

Niall nods. “Weird year.”

Louis takes a long drag. “Weird year.”

 

*

 

The kids have been put to bed by the time he gets home -- he peeks in on them, and they're tucked up in bed, Bo asleep at Mia’s feet -- but after he says goodnight to Ingrid and is standing at the sink wiping off the bit of concealer he's got on to cover his dark circles, Amir appears in the doorway. His eyes are sleepy, his hair ruffled.

“I wake you?” Louis whispers.

Amir shakes his head. “I didn't sleep.”

“Oh, sonny, you need your sleep for school.”

He gets a stubborn look. “I don't want to go anymore.”

“You have to,” Louis says, wetting his toothbrush. “Otherwise you'll grow up stupid like your old man. I've never even read Hamlet or anything.”

“I don't want to read Hamlem,” Amir says. “I want to stay home. And I want Daddy home.”

Louis finishes brushing his teeth, spits, and squats down on the floor, taking his son’s hands in his own. Amir stares at him with defiant dark eyes.

“Things might be different from now on,” he says softly. “Daddy might not live here anymore.”

“Where'd you put him!” Amir shouts, tugging his hands free. He’s clearly overtired. “ _Why do you keep making him go away!”_

Louis inhales. “He's sick, sweetheart. He needs to get better. You talk to him on the phone every day.”

“I wanna see him!”

“You'll see him soon.”

“You keep saying that!”

Amir, his watchful little trouper who hardly ever gets angry, whose tantrums are far more likely to involve reproachful bouts of weeping, is suddenly furious in the doorway. Louis stares at him, speechless, wishing he were old enough to understand.

“I'm sorry,” he says, stroking his dark hair. “I know you miss him. He'll be back soon.”

“Fix it!”

“I can't. I wish I could.”

“You always fix everything!” he cries. “Why can't you fix it!”

“Amir, lovey…” Louis swallows. “I’m really tired, okay? Can we talk about it in the morning?”

Amir is crying silently, tears streaming down his face.

“Want to sleep in here tonight?”

Amir nods, and Louis wipes at his wet cheeks with his thumbs.

When they're settled in bed, Louis looks over at him in the dark, at his sweet little face finally at peace in sleep. He wonders how much the kids see, how much they know.

He realizes this, alone in the gray darkness, listening to the faint hum of the dryer down the hall and the soft breathing of his son a few feet away, that it's over. It has to be over.

He can't imagine growing older with Zayn. He can't imagine staying with him or having this baby. He can't imagine a return to to the tumultuous happiness they had going for a few years. He loves him, but he can't stay.

Grief sweeps over him, and he finally lets himself feel it. It's sweet in its bitter pain, like when you pick a nasty scab to bleeding and your mouth floods with salt.

 

LOS ANGELES, SEPTEMBER 10, 2020

Louis schedules the abortion for the twelfth, half to give himself time to know for sure, and half because his days are so stacked with meetings and recording sessions up to then that he can't fit in the half a day to go get the thing and then rest after it. And he wants to do it after Zayn leaves, because he wants to see him, first. That's a big part of being sure. He wants to look him in the face one last time.

But Zayn bumps his flight up, because his camerawoman is already in New Zealand and having visa issues, and if he doesn't get the hell out there they might lose their chance to interview a tiny community of Maori Muslims. So Louis, stuck at the studio, gets one rushed phone call with him when he thought he'd get an entire afternoon. Zayn apparently ran home to say goodbye to the kids before he headed to LAX, and he calls Louis as he's driving away from the house. “Sorry I missed you, but I'll be back,” he yells over the sound of two other people in the car having what sound like urgent conversations. “Two months, tops. I told the kids I'll send you loads of pics for them, and I'll be in touch every day if I've got service…”

But, Louis wants to say. But, but --

What he says is, “Alright, good luck, let me know if you get things sorted, and ring me when you're there safe.”

And then he hangs up, terribly conflicted.

 

*

 

The tenth is supposed to be a long day for him. Syco is having an unusually good year, and the first thing on his docket is he's booked to do a photoshoot at the LA office with a few of their other favored artists.

Louis has been feeling funny all day, light-headed and off, and he's chatting with some A&R people when he feels it. Sticky heat between his legs.

He manages to smoothly excuse himself to the toilet, where he stumbles into a stall and tears down his jeans.

Blood. Bright red blood all over his cock and his thighs. He stares, astounded by the awful mundanity of it. The light-headedness grows worse; his ears are ringing.

Next to him, someone flushes and saunters out, taking ages to rinse off their hands. He stuffs his boxer briefs with scratchy toilet paper and tries to compose himself.

He doesn't have time to think as he rinses his hands off and ducks out of the bathroom, pulling his phone out of his pocket, planning to ring Evelin as soon as he gets to the car park -- and then he runs right into Simon, who gives him a nonplussed look.

“You should've been in hair and makeup ten minutes ago!”

Louis stares at him, his mouth going dry. “I can't.”

“You can't what?”

“I can't do the shoot, mate, I'm sorry --”

“What are you talking about?” Simon slings an arm around his shoulders and begins walking him down the hallway. “I've --”

Louis twists out of his grip, his heart hammering. “Listen to me,” he snaps, and Simon turns. “I think I'm having a miscarriage.”

A variety of expressions cross Simon’s face before he settles on a sort of squeamish, shocked sympathy.

“What do you need?” he says, softer.

“A car, I reckon? I can't drive like this...”

“Okay.” Simon guides him to a bench. “Sit down, I'll be right back.”

 

*

 

Evelin agrees to juggle some appointments for him so he doesn't have to go to the hospital and be poked and prodded by strangers, or risk being spotted by paps.

Louis lies down across the back of the town car’s bench seats as it heads downtown. He's numb. Just this morning he was turning side to side in the mirror anxiously, trying to make sure he wasn't starting to look pregnant. He had been thinking that soon, soon he'd be free from this, the warm weight in his womb that’s been a constant sickly reminder of happier times. Free from the possibility that he'd have to go running back to Zayn. And now it’s happening -- not in a sterile hospital room, under his choice and his purview, but humiliatingly and in the back of a car.

 

*

 

He sits there in the stupid gown and awful stirrups, staring at the round light overhead. It feels like he's there for hours. She does an ultrasound, and he doesn't look, he just keeps staring at the ceiling. All of this feels so backwards and farcical, a pregnancy scripted by Larry David, or something.

Finally, Evelin snaps her gloves off and comes over to him, looking sympathetic. “It looks like a complete miscarriage,” she says softly. “I don't think you'll need a D&C.”

Louis swallows. His throat is dry, his head fuzzy. “What happened?” he says, finally tipping his head to look at her.

Evelin shakes her head. “I couldn't tell you for sure without an autopsy, but it's almost always a terminal chromosomal aberration,” she says. “You were eight weeks along. From what I can tell, the fetus stopped growing sometime shortly after your six-week scan.”

“Huh,” he says drily. “Guess that makes me feel better about the abortion.”

“I'm so sorry, Louis. I know this was such a hard decision for you to begin with.”

He clears his throat. “So it's not my fault at all?”

“No, no,” Evelin assures him.

He looks up at her. Her face is dimly lit; she turned the lights off so she could see better with the overhead lamp. Outside, a light rain is pattering at the windows. It’s the first time it’s rained here in months.

“You sure?” he says. “I've been stressed lately, I've been pushing meself, working really hard, I've smoked --”

“Louis,” she says tenderly. “I'm sorry it happened like this, and I'm sure this is hard to process, but please don't blame yourself, okay? Work stress doesn't cause miscarriages. It wasn't your fault. You most likely never could have carried this baby to term, even if you spent the last two months on bed rest.”

Louis’ phone goes off on the little table. People keep texting him. He's got so many places he's supposed to be.

“Are you feeling any pain?” she says.

“Cramps,” he admits.

“I can write you out something for that.” Evelin studies him. “You need to go home and lie down.”

He nods. Tears trickle out of his eyes.

She lays a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need a minute?”

“No,” Louis chokes out. He's so tired of hands on his shoulders, of the gentle, well-meaning sympathy, of being pitiable. He just wants his life back. “I'm not sad, really. No, I'm sad, but… I feel relieved, too. ‘S’that awful?”

“No, no, not at all.”

“I just want my husband,” he mutters. “Can I fly, or?”

“You can fly,” she says.

Louis sits up, then. “Alright, I'll be heading out, I think.”

“Okay. I'll go write your scrips, and you can get dressed in the meantime.”

"Wait," he says, and she meets his eyes. "This, uh -- this won't have any long-term effects, right?"

Evelin shakes her head. "No, no. You should be able to get pregnant again just fine."

He can't imagine wanting to. "Alright, thanks."

She leaves him, and he goes over to fetch the change of clothes that his new PA, Carter, brought by. He took away the ones Louis had bled on. Louis sort of wants them back. The situation has a hysterical unreality to it; he's afraid this pregnancy will be effectively erased from existence, even though he's still puffy and weepy and queasy, even though it’s settled over him like a filmy residue, a layer of dust.

He has to go to New Zealand. He needs the comfort of Zayn's arms, one last time, he needs to be a married couple with him one last time, and then he'll let him go. He'll make a clean break while they’re still capable of one, and they'll go their separate ways, less whole but less tormented.

But what's he going to say? Zayn never even knew he was pregnant. _Hi, I lost our baby. Honey, I lost our baby._ Like it's his keys. _Zayn, I lost the baby, can you look in the kitchen while I check upstairs? Shit, did I maybe leave it in the car? Hi, love, I miscarried that third child you wanted so badly, but hey, I was gonna abort it anyway, and also I want a divorce, because I feel like I'm drowning. Ta, good luck with your documentary!_

Louis knows how this works, he knows miscarriages are common as anything, a fact of life, like food poisoning and ingrown hairs. He knows this wasn't his fault, and yet he feels like he killed his fetus with his ambivalence, that he was so eager to leave Zayn and abort it that it died of grief. He can't get that out of his head.

It seemed cosmically doomed from the very beginning, anyway, conceived during sex he was sad for most of, when his blood pressure was still high from the earlier terror of his babies being in danger. Even as Zayn was sitting there admitting he snogged that fucking Elyse, his body was haphazardly putting together a fucked-up Jenga puzzle of chromosomes, sending a doomed sperm after a doomed egg.

Louis buttons up his jeans. The grief he's feeling now is quieter, more overwhelming. It's grief for his marriage, not grief for the baby who might have been. He's very glad that for once, it's raining.

 

PACIFIC OCEAN, SEPTEMBER 11, 2020

Louis said goodbye to the kids that morning, kneeling on the still-damp cobblestones of the front walkway, and they clung to him as usual, but on the whole weren't quite as anxious as he expected. They're growing up, both of them. Mia is nearly five, and she's really a little person of her own now.

“Be good for Ingrid, alright?” Louis said, clapping them on the shoulders.

“Okay,” they chorused.

“I'll be back in a couple days.”

“When's Daddy back?” Amir said.

“A little while.”

Amir, reproachful, said, “Can't you bring him back with you?”

“Lovey,” Louis said, chucking him on the chin, “your dad's got to do this for his own good. Can you be a big boy for me in the meantime? My little man of the house?”

Mia grinned slyly at this, like she could sense the subterfuge at work, but Amir had given him an earnest nod. Louis kissed them both on the head, then he was gone.

On the jet, he can't get comfortable; he's still crampy and sad. It comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. After a bit of turbulence on takeoff, it's nothing but smooth going, endless ocean out his window. The plane softly hums like the fine instrument it is. He wanders up and down the aisle, waiting for the Tylenol to kick in, and then lies down on a couch across from Daniel, who's reading the newspaper.

After a while, he closes it with a loud crinkle and glances over at Louis. “So, Henry Morton Stanley. Why the trek, what's so urgent you can't wait for Zayn to come home?”

Louis tips his head, looking over at him with a wan smile. “I need to tell him I'm leaving him.”

Daniel exhales. “Oh, jeez. I'm sorry.”

Louis flaps his hand and hitches up the sleeves of his jumper. “‘S’alright.”

Daniel nods, his lips pursed, then silently hands him the sports section.

 

NEW ZEALAND, SEPTEMBER 12, 2020

Zayn is in a lush, remote fishing village nestled at the bottom of a mountain for the next week, according to his most recent text to Louis, which included five pictures.

They find a fixer at the airport who identifies the village for them in exchange for a bit of cash, then informs them that they can drive out there, but it's going to require quite a bit of hiking.

Louis, who's still exhausted and achey, just nods. He's on a mission. Daniel eyes him, and he stubbornly averts his gaze.

Carter navigates off a paper map as they bump along a dirt road slung low between two mountains, shouting out directions over the rush of wind through the body of the 4x4.

The trip only takes a half hour out from Auckland, and then they find themselves driving up a muddy hill to the mouth of a trail, which disappears into the woods and hugs close to the base of the mountain.

“Alright,” Louis announces, jumping out of the car and grabbing his bag. “I'm going.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Daniel and Carter chorus.

Louis puts his hands on his hips.

“We can't let you just run off into the wilderness,” Daniel says.

Louis finds the concern in his voice annoying. They've both been handling him with kid gloves since the miscarriage, like he might at any minute succumb to an episode of hysterical grief, or childbed fever, or something.

“I'm not,” he retorts. “I know where I'm going. The village is at the end of the trail.”

“Carter, go with him,” Daniel says. “I'll stay with the car.”

“Oh, for Christ’s -- he's just going to have to turn around and come back once I find Zayn!”

“That's fine!” Carter says gamely. “I like to hike. We've got plenty of daylight, too.”

“Alright, let’s go, then,” Louis says, handing him a Gatorade.

They walk along the trail for a while in the dense, humid forest. It's a bit jungle-y, out here, and they start hearing funny noises. Birds keep screeching overhead.

Louis’ got a headache, and he's begun to grow anxious with anticipation, but he keeps trudging along. His Vans are getting muddy.

“Hotter than I thought,” Carter calls over his shoulder after about twenty minutes.

“Yeah,” Louis calls back.

“Never been to New Zealand before.”

“It's, uh…” He racks his brain for small talk, and he’s doing that, he trips over a root and ends up sprawled on the hard-packed dirt.

“Oh, shit,” Carter says, wheeling around. “Man down.”

They both start laughing. Louis wipes his muddy palms off on his jeans, his laugh winding down. Then it peters out, and he's just sitting there with a lump in his throat.

“You alright?” Carter says, extending a hand to him.

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs, taking it. “Yeah.”

 

*

 

When they walk out of the forest, the village is right there, a series of little colorful houses fringed by lush vegetation.

Louis stops, breathing heavily, and takes his phone out of his pocket to call Zayn. Carter watches him as he stands there, finger in his ear to block out the shrieking birds, staring down at his feet.

Zayn finally picks up. “Louis?”

“Hey,” he says tentatively. “So, before I go on, I just want you to know everyone's okay. The kids are fine, I'm fine.”

“... Okay? What's up? You sound funny.”

“I'm here, Zayn, I'm in New Zealand. I'm at the village you're staying at.”

There's several beats of silence. Carter gnaws at his lip as he watches him.

“You serious?” Zayn says. Louis can't tell how he feels about it. “You're -- hold on. Where you at?”

“At the edge of the jungley bit, here.”

“Stay put, I’ll fetch you.”

They wait for a very long five minutes, and then there comes Zayn walking into view in the center thoroughfare that runs through the village, deftly sidestepping wandering chickens.

“I'm gonna head back to the car,” Carter whispers. “We’ll get a hotel in Auckland, call us tomorrow.”

“Thanks, mate. Go to the nice one, get yourselves a nice dinner on me, whatever you like.”

Carter squeezes him on the shoulder, and then he's off, crashing through the underbrush.

Zayn is slowly sauntering toward him, squinting. He's got an untrimmed beard going, and his hair is long, loose and wavy. Louis swallows, watching him, his heart heavy in his chest.

Zayn stops a few inches away, reaching up and cupping his face in one hand, stroking his stubbly cheek. After all this time, he still makes Louis weak in the knees.

“Hey,” he says, smiling. His amber eyes are dancing in the light of the setting sun.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs.

“So,” he says, “Gonna make a wild guess you didn't just, uh, suddenly get a wild hair to hang out with the Maoris?”

Louis lets out a soft laugh. “Nah, that's not exactly why I'm here.”

Zayn nods and looks away, out over the water. “Aight,” he says. “We're done filming for the day, and I've got a little cabin for the next couple nights, so. Wanna go talk?”

Louis nods back. Zayn wraps an arm around his shoulders and starts guiding him down the hill.

 

*

 

Zayn’s cabin is lovely, just a little one-room wood house at the edge of the water. Louis stands in the center of the room, his arms folded, zoning into space as Zayn puts away camera equipment, opens a window and digs a water bottle out of his backpack.

“Drink,” he says, handing it to Louis, who starts. He's so jumpy. “You look a bit dehydrated. And sunburned.”

“I didn't factor in the hiking,” he mutters, twisting the cap off. “There running water here?”

“Nope!” Zayn says, taking a seat on the bed. Louis has never seen him this unkempt, or this cheerful. He smells earthy, like sweat and dirt.

“Where d’you shit?”

“Latrine.”

“Really?”

“This is the real deal, bro. Back to basics. Real nature hours.”

Louis laughs appreciatively.

“So…” Zayn says, looking down at his clasped hands. “You're making me nervous.”

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to.”

“It's just you look so fucking grim.”

He inhales. “Can we smoke? I brought weed. You can still smoke weed, right?”

Zayn grins. “I can smoke weed.”

 

*

 

They lie in the big bed smoking, blowing rings at the ceiling, getting a nice mellow high. Zayn tells him all about what's happened so far, about bailing his camerawoman out of holding at the airport, and all the interesting people he's met in the last couple of days. Louis lies there and listens, smiling at him. The bed is nice and soft, his limbs are all heavy and warm, and both his nerves and his headache have quieted down to background noise. It's so, so humid in the room, although there's a nice breeze going. Still, that doesn't stop him from sweating through his shirt.

Zayn runs out of things to tell him, after a while, and they lie there finishing the second blunt in companionable silence. It feels the way it used to between them. If he closes his eyes, he can briefly pretend he's twenty.

“Long flight out here,” Zayn finally says. “Twelve hours.”

“Yeah.”

“What's up, Louis?”

Louis, heartsick, looks over at him.

“You're so beardy,” he murmurs.

Zayn laughs. “You're gonna think it's silly…”

“What?”

“I had a therapist in rehab who told me to try not looking in mirrors for a while. No selfies, nothing. Haven't looked at myself in two months now.”

“Wow,” Louis says, impressed. “That help at all?”

“Actually, it's helped loads.”

Louis sits up, his hands in his lap. Zayn reaches out and takes one, and they intertwine their fingers.

“This is hard,” Louis murmurs.

Zayn squeezes his hand.

“I guess I'll start with this… I had a miscarriage the other day.”

Zayn freezes, then sits up too, studying his face. “ _What_?”

Louis tries to continue, but he's got cottonmouth and he's not sure where to begin. Zayn gently pulls him back down onto the bed so they're lying face to face, their knees brushing, looking at each other.

“My IUD came dislodged a while ago, apparently. So, you got me pregnant,” he says softly. “When you came over, in July.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Zayn says, with hurt in his voice. “Did you know?”

“Aye. I found out two weeks ago. I was gonna have an abortion.”

A shadow crosses his face, and his eyebrows knit. “You were gonna what?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and he rolls over onto his back, because he can't stand looking at Zayn’s pained face while he talks about this. “I was going to have it done today, actually. I wasn't going to tell you. I wanted you to be totally undistracted, to get better. I just couldn't handle another kid, not with us estranged… Please believe me it was the right thing to do.”

“Love, love, just tell me what happened.”

“Well, then I lost the baby anyway.” He swallows, picking at lint on his shirt. “I was at Syco, and I just started bleeding --”

“Oh, Louis…” Zayn reaches up and strokes his hair. “Christ. I'm so sorry.”

“It's been a hard couple days.” He goes quiet. “Would you’ve forgiven me? If I’d gone through with it, without telling you?”

“Yeah, loves, of course. I don't… it's your body.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I do really wish you would've told me.”

“I couldn't bring meself to.”

“I would've come to the… I would've supported you.”

“That'd be the saddest thing in the world, my husband holding my hand at my abortion… And you're only saying this ‘cos I already lost the baby. You know if I’d come to you pregnant, you’d've wanted to keep it.”

Zayn tenderly smoothes a lock of hair off Louis’ forehead. “‘Course I would've...”

“Then you know why I didn't tell you. ‘Cos it was an impossible enough decision already.”

They're quiet for a while. Louis rolls over, pressing his face to Zayn’s chest, clinging to the soft fabric of his shirt. Zayn wraps his arms around him, holding onto him.

“I'm so sorry, babe,” he whispers. “I should've been there… you shouldn't’ve gone through that alone…”

“But you needed to be where you were,” Louis says. “So it's okay. I can do things alone. I've gotten much better at that, actually.”

Zayn doesn't speak. Louis nuzzles against his chest, feeling it rise and fall.

“Are you leaving me?” he finally says, his voice raw and ragged. “Is that why you came all the way out here? I know it has to be somethin’ bad.”

Louis fists Zayn’s shirt in his hand, unable to speak or move. He smells so familiar, he smells like family. But something between them has gone missing, slipped away, like a spiderweb in water.

“Baby, please. Just tell me.”

“I came here to say goodbye,” he chokes out.

“Louis, Louis…”

Out the window, the sun is going down. Louis can hear people walking by, conversing quietly in a language he doesn't understand.

Zayn is holding onto him like he can physically stop Louis from going. Louis, hormonal and exhausted and terribly sad, starts to cry. Soon Zayn is as well. They lie there clinging to each other and crying.

“I knew this was ‘appening…” Zayn sniffs. “I think I've known for months now… just something about the way you talk to me, anymore…”

“I'm sorry,” Louis says, hiccupy, “I don't mean -- if I've been cold to you, or anything --”

“No, you haven't, that's not what I mean…”

Louis separates from him, wiping at his wet face with his shirt, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Zayn gazes up at him, his eyes shining.

“This can't be it, Tommo,” he says. “We can make it work, we love each other, I’m doing better, now --”

“You're partly doing better because we've been separated,” Louis says. “You can admit that. It's okay.”

“Yeah, but -- maybe now --”

“Zayn, I…” He takes a long, deep breath. “I've spent months thinking, like --”

“Is this about me cheating? D’you not forgive me?”

Louis shakes his head. “I forgive you,” he says gently. “I really do.”

Zayn blinks back tears. “Then…”

“But I can't risk it anymore. I never want to lose your friendship. I'd rather lose our marriage than lose our friendship.”

Zayn brings his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes. “Louis,” he says in a hoarse voice.

“I just -- I love you, Zayn, but I can't be married to you anymore. I can't let our kids grow up hearing us scream at each other, watching you walk out on me. I can't spend any more of my life resenting you for these silly -- our silly insecure things we hurt each other over. Honestly, honestly, I love you too much to keep doing this. I love you too much to let you ever cheat on me again. You mean too much to me.” His voice breaks, painfully. “You've known me since I was a kid. You're the father of my children. I need to be able to keep loving you. I need -- the place in my heart that's yours, I need it to stay tender. You almost wrecked it, mate. You hurt me really badly. And the other thing is... I couldn't live with myself if the stress between us drove you to drink again. For the sake of the kids, I can't take that chance.”

Zayn is crying silently, tears streaming down his cheeks, but he's nodding.

“I don’t wanna be this sad, pathetic person anymore. I wanna remember our happy times, being a family,” Louis murmurs, wiping his eyes. “Those were some of the best moments of me life. That and the band.”

He lets out a rueful laugh. “Jesus, you're really putting the boot in, love.”

Louis sniffles and starts chuckling, and then they're laughing together through their tears.

“I tried so hard to protect you,” he says, “and make you better, but I just made you sicker, didn't I? I put so much pressure on you --”

“Oh, Louis.” Zayn looks miserable. “No, no…”

“You look so healthy.” Louis hugs his arms to himself. “I haven't seen you this healthy since… God, almost ten years ago.”

“I'm sorry,” Zayn says. His eyes are still glittering. “I broke your trust. Not a day goes by I haven't regretted it.”

“We got married too soon,” he says, sounding small. “We weren’t ready. We rushed it, I let you rush it, you were tryin’ to do right by me, and it was too much for both of us…”

“C’mere, c’mere.”

Zayn sits up, and Louis settles against him so Zayn can wrap his arms around him.

“Is there not anythin’ I can say to make it up to you?” he says softly. “‘Cos I don't want to let you go without a fight.”

“I don't think so,” Louis says, another tear slipping down his cheek. “I just -- I don't want that crazy passion anymore, y’know? The ups and downs… I'm getting too old for it, I just want to feel safe. I want a boring, regular life. You and me, we’re so fucking bad at being boring. And, God, do I miss being friends with you. I feel like there was a time when we remembered how to be friends and be married, but we've just… We lost it.”

Zayn kisses him on the neck. “You're the first person I ever really loved,” he murmurs. “Like, grown-up love, real love.”

He turns around and cups Zayn’s face in his hands, stroking at his beard. Zayn gazes at him, looking beautifully sad. Louis has never felt this old in his life.

They start to kiss tenderly. Louis slowly leads Zayn back down against the bed, wanting to feel him one last time.

Zayn relights the blunt that's resting on the bedside table and hands it to Louis, who takes a long drag and holds it in his lungs. The weed has made his cramps melt away, and taken the edge off his aching sadness.

“Condom?” he says, exhaling with a cough. “I got some in me bag.”

It's growing dark in the room as dusk settles. Louis watches as Zayn climbs off the bed and goes searching.

“I might take a while, wiv the meds I'm on,” he murmurs when he comes back. “Actually, I'm not even hard.”

“What, getting divorced doesn't get you hot?” he jokes.

Zayn chuckles throatily as he bends over Louis, stroking himself. “Oh, yeah, properly sexy. Really…” He makes the _okay_ gesture.

Louis starts laughing, too, and then they both are. “What's wrong with us?”

“Ah, it's been a rough couple of years, babes, I think we're allowed to have a laugh.” He meets Louis’ eyes. “Missed your laugh.”

Louis smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hadn't heard it in a while.”

“Bring that over here, love.”

Zayn crawls forward on the bed, and they start to kiss again as Louis strokes his cock. Their kissing is so bittersweet, every second made poignant by the knowledge that it's the last time.

Louis carefully rolls the condom up over him, and Zayn kisses him on the neck as he does. “Hey,” he says in a low voice, “you alright to do this? After the… I'm not gonna hurt you?”

“No, no, you're not gonna hurt me. I'm alright.”

They nuzzle close to each other, and Zayn begins to slide into him. Louis lets out a soft gasp, burying his face in Zayn's neck.

Zayn begins to move his hips, gently. They hold each other tight in the darkness. Tears begin to trickle down Louis’ cheeks again, and soon he realizes Zayn is crying too.

“I love you,” he says hoarsely. “I'll always love you, alright?”

“Louis,” Zayn murmurs, his voice hitching. He slips a hand underneath him, pressing his palm to his upper back. His tears roll off his chin, landing on Louis’ shoulder. “You're killin’ me…”

“I know,” he chokes out. “I'm sorry. This is so hard.”

“It ain't easy,” Zayn says.

They go quiet after that, having very gentle sex, pressing little kisses to each other's throats and shoulders and lips.

 

*

 

They spend the rest of the night crying, talking and making love. Zayn tries again, a couple times, to talk Louis out of it, but the more they talk the more they realize how much better they’ve both felt being separated -- no longer living in terror of disappointing the other, terror of being abandoned (whether emotionally or physically), terror of finally having a fight so vicious they kill the love between them for good.

This realization sets off its own round of crying, because they feel like absolute and utter failures, like they've let each other and their kids down. Zayn tearfully asks Louis to fuck him, which he does, and then they lie together absolutely spent, stroking each other's hair and kissing until they fall asleep.

 

*

 

Louis is woken up early the next morning by a rooster crowing. He lies there for a while. He's exhausted in every way possible, but he already feels more strong and whole than he did yesterday. He’s beginning to feel like himself again.

He glances over at Zayn, who's still peacefully asleep, his dark hair all messy. Looking at him makes his chest pang.

“Hi,” he whispers. “Good morning.”

“Mmm,” Zayn groans, stirring. “You leaving?”

“Reckon I should, yeah. Let you get back to your work, here.”

Zayn’s eyes slowly open, catlike, and he looks up at Louis. “Yeah. Shit.” He yawns. “Sort of forgot where I even was…”

“Sorry to do this to you,” Louis murmurs. “Come here and throw this bomb on your lap.”

“Oh, hey,” Zayn says, taking his hand and squeezing it. “No. The limbo was worse, and I’m not just sayin’ that.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Limbo’s always worse.”

“We've got a lot to talk about.” Zayn rubs at his eyes.

“I want to sell the house,” Louis says. “Before the kids are old enough to really miss it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It's too big... besides, it reminds me too much of.” He shakes his head. “Y’know.”

You, he doesn't say.

Zayn nods. “I get that. Yeah, we can sell it and split what we get. An’ all our other assets are segregated, anyway.”

“Right. The kids are the only thing.”

Zayn smiles. “And the Mystery Machine.”

Louis laughs. “Right.”

“You can keep that. Just promise you'll smoke me out in it once in a while.”

“I can do that.”

“And don't smash it to bits this time.”

“I promise, love.”

Zayn reaches out for his other hand, his left hand, and gently slips his wedding band off of him.

Louis’ throat tightens up. “Right,” he says softly.

Zayn slips his own off, and closes his fingers over the pair of them in his palm.

“End of an era,” he says, looking misty.

“Made it five years,” Louis murmurs. “Not too shabby at all.”

“Longer than most people thought we would, I reckon.”

 

*

 

Louis texts Carter to come meet him, and they sit at the edge of the river while they wait, watching the sun rise over the mountains and dipping their feet in the cool water.

“Good luck with all this,” Louis says to Zayn, passing him the cigarette they're sharing. “I think it's really cool, what you're doing.”

He smiles. Shadows dance on his face, reflected by the trees bending over the water. “Thanks, mate. I'm excited about it.”

“Don't take forever, though. Kids miss you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mostly sonny boy. Mia’s a bit more resilient.”

Zayn nods, handing him the cigarette back.

“He really idolizes you,” Louis murmurs. “They both do.”

“Not Yasmeen so much, lately,” Zayn says. “Think she knows I did you wrong somehow. Been lookin’ at me different. That's probably why she's not missing me as much.”

“Oh, mate, I'm sorry…”

“Hey, don't be. It's my fault, innit? I'll make it up to her.”

“She's older,” Louis says. “Understands more than he does. I've tried to protect ‘em, but…”

“Yeah. I get what you meant, about them seeing stuff.”

Louis takes a drag.

“Hey, one thing,” Zayn says, reaching over for the cigarette. “Never left you, did I?” He smiles wanly. “You’re the one leavin’ me.”

Louis’ eyes fill up again, and he nods.

 

*

 

Zayn walks him up the hill to the treeline, where Carter is waiting with his work phone and his personal phone stacked in his hand.

Louis turns to Zayn, and Zayn claps him on the shoulder, then pulls him in for a hug.

“See you soon,” Louis says softly to him.

“See you soon, babes.” Zayn kisses him roughly on the cheek. His beard is scrapey.

They hang onto each other, swaying slightly, not wanting to let each other go.

“Tell the kids I said hi, I love you, all that,” Zayn murmurs. “I’ll send pics from the Outback when we get there.”

“Okay. And if you see a koala…”

“I got you. Koala pics for Yas. She likes her bears.”

“She does like her bears.” Louis rubs at his wiry back, feeling numb and achey. “Hey, be safe out there, alright? Love you...”

“Love you too.”

They separate a bit, gazing at each other for a long moment. Louis swallows hard, and Zayn kisses him on the forehead, then reluctantly steps back.

“Bye,” Louis calls to him.

Zayn raises his hand in a wave, smiles, then he's walking away down the sun-dappled hill. Louis turns to Carter, who lifts his eyebrows.

“Wait, so, did you guys break up, or…?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says. “No, it's over.” He holds up his bare left hand.

“Oh, alright. You just…”

“We’re still affectionate,” he says defensively.

“Hey.” Carter raises his hands. “Totally get it. None of my business.”

They start back on the path, pushing past the leafy underbrush.

“How was last night?” Louis calls to him over the bird noises.

“Great!” Carter calls back. “We ate shark, it was weird. Got pretty expensive, so, sorry about that --”

“‘S’fine,” Louis calls back. “I'll write it off on me taxes. Business dinner.”

“It was literally me and Daniel just getting drunk on two bottles of Chardonnay and eating weird seafood for three hours.”

“Honestly, I can't imagine a better way to spend my money.”

 

NOVEMBER 10, 2020

_Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson have filed for divorce after four years of marriage, a rep for the couple confirmed today._

_An insider reported that the divorce is amicable, and the pair have readily reached agreements on splitting assets and dividing custody of their two children -- Mia, 4, and Amir, 3._

_Malik, who went to rehab earlier this year, reportedly for alcohol abuse, recently returned to the U.S. after a globe-trotting exploration of the world’s most esoteric religions. A documentary he produced on the subject, in partnership with VICE Media, is expected to be out in 2021. According to documents filed in Los Angeles County, the couple filed for divorce the day after TMZ reported that had Malik landed back in California._

_The documents also revealed that Malik and Tomlinson have been living separately for at least six months. The official reason for the divorce was cited as irreconcilable differences. Rumors have swirled about the driving force behind the split, but sources close to the couple remain tight-lipped._

_The pair eloped in a small ceremony in 2016. They first met on the X-Factor UK in 2010, when they were both placed into boyband One Direction. Malik left the then-juggernaut band in 2015, a few months before the couple publicly announced their relationship. They welcomed their first child, daughter Mia, in January 2016. Tomlinson remains a member of the now-dormant group, although it's unclear if the remaining members have plans to reunite._

_Along with the other three One Direction alums, Malik and Tomlinson have had successful solo careers. They’ve also musically collaborated several times as a couple, and Tomlinson is said to have occasionally acted as a talent manager for his former husband._

_Representatives for the couple released a joint statement this morning that emphasized their commitment to co-parenting and remaining amicable._

_“We are sad to announce the end of our marriage,” the statement said, “but happy to have been able to reach this decision as good friends with mutual priorities. We are so thankful for the love from our families, our friends and our fans, and for our two incredible kids. For their sake and ours, we request privacy in this difficult time.”_


	3. Chapter 3

BEVERLY HILLS, DECEMBER, 2020 

Louis, who had sort of believed the tough part was over, finds divorce is exactly as emotionally devastating as everyone warned him it would be.

He has his good days and his bad days. The bad days involve him having long cathartic cries -- in the shower, so the kids don't hear -- and driving around the Hills after he drops them off at school or Zayn’s, blasting music and chewing nicotine gum. (He's making another go of quitting smoking, since Mia has begun guilt-tripping him about it every hour on the hour.)

He keeps a strong face on, though. Especially since the tabloids are all going on and on about "LOUIS' PRIVATE HELL" (sometimes it's 'ZAYN'S PRIVATE HELL', instead -- Zayn usually gets a small spot on the front cover, while Louis is always buried several pages inside) and claim to know "what drove them to divorce". Sometimes he reads them, out of curiosity, but it's the same shit every time.

The good days involve him working out, playing music and giving himself self-talk about how he's a strong, vibrant, successful thirty-year-old, and it’s okay to be struggling with finally learning how to be alone now that he's single for the first time since he was a teenager. He's also going to therapy, now, which sometimes makes him feel fantastic, and sometimes makes him go home and have a cry in the shower.

He and Zayn settle on joint physical custody and spending holidays and birthdays together. The kids struggle through an adjustment period -- acting out at school, throwing tantrums, trying to extort expensive gifts out of them and generally being little nightmares. It ebbs, though, once they realize their parents are still a united front. Louis doesn't even want to think about how hard this would all be if they couldn't get along.

His album comes out on the first of December. It's half about Zayn, and so is widely presumed to be entirely about Zayn. He would normally find this annoying, but the presumption gets him a ton of press, so he doesn't fight it too hard. He even gets a profile in GQ, and in between a volley of questions about the divorce and if One Direction is ever getting back together, he manages to get a few good quotes out about his artistic process.

Everyone is very kind to him. He gets flowers and cards and DMs from people he hasn't been in touch with for years. Even Harry sends him a giant bouquet -- the card just says _xx H._

Liam texts him, _hey, i'm really sorry_. _I know you're probably going through hell right now. Let me know if you ever need anything._ It takes him almost two days to respond; he has no idea what to say. It's not like he helped Liam through his own divorce, or anything. They've barely talked in the last year. Everything he writes out either feels stupid or flippant; finally, he settles on, _Thanks mate . Lemme know next time you're in town , we can get sad divorced boy drinks_

Liam texts back, _hahaha. you're on :)_

 

BEVERLY HILLS, MARCH 20, 2021

Louis gets a sinus infection from the flight back from England for Amir’s fourth birthday party.

The birthday itself was good -- actually, it's their best post-divorce get-together yet. Christmas was awkward, because it was so soon afterward, and Amir made it worse by informing everyone on Christmas morning that he wrote a letter to Santa asking for his parents to get back together, which made Zayn depart to the backyard for a smoke while Louis gently explained why this sort of thing is not within Santa’s purview. And then Mia made it doubly worse by retorting that she doesn't _want_ them to get back together, which Louis is glad Zayn was out of earshot for.

Amir’s birthday goes much more smoothly, but of course Louis gets sinusitis, and the day after they land Mia informs him she has this ridiculous model solar system project he's got to help her with, and when they're in the middle of working on that there's a neighborhood power blackout.

At first he thinks it's just his place, but then he heads down to the basement fusebox to start flipping switches, and nothing happens. Louis stumbles down the driveway and out onto the sidewalk in his socks, sniffling and trying to get his ears to pop. The kids trail along behind him.

His new neighbor Deeva is already outside, wearing tennis whites and looking around curiously.

“Deeva,” he yells. “You lose power?”

She comes down the sidewalk to him, waving to the kids. “Yes! You too? What's going on?”

“I dunno,” he says. “But we did lose water last week, ‘cos of the wildfires, so maybe it's…” He sniffs. “I've got no idea, honestly. City’s fuckin’ falling apart.”

“I'll call the cable company and let you know what they say,” she says decisively.

“It's the -- it's the power company, love.”

Deeva blinks at him. “Doesn't the power come through cables?”

“The cable company does the telly,” he says, raising his eyebrows, wondering if she’s joking.

She nods and points at him, her diamond bracelet jingling. “Right. You're right! Anyway, I'll call them and keep you updated.”

“Dad,” Mia complains. “I have to do my project!”

“I wanna play video games,” Amir says.

Louis starts back up the driveway, spits a nasty hunk of phlegm into a rose bush, then turns to them. “Alright, um. Let’s assume this is gonna be taken care of in around an hour? Let’s go downtown and get some coffee. Your dad needs a coffee.”

“If you have coffee, will you help me make Saturn?” Mia says, her hands on her hips.

“Tarbucks?” Amir says hopefully. “Can I have a cake pop?”

“No,” Louis says, leading them to the car. “Well, maybe. What've you eaten today?”

“Mac and cheese for breakfast.”

“Oh, Christ,” he mutters to himself as he bends over to adjust their car seats. “I'm a terrible father. Yeah, alright, let’s get a cake pop.”

 

*

"He's touching me!"

"I am not!"

"You are! You know you are!"

"No!"

"Legs count!"

"Kids," Louis says sharply, sparing them one quick glance in the rearview mirror as he zips down the 10. "Cut it out, please."

"He's in my space!" Mia exclaims furiously, and then there's a thump and a wail.

"She hit me!" Amir cries tearfully.

"Mia, no hitting! Christ!"

"He started it!"

Amir cries harder, in a loud, stagy way that Louis knows is specifically engineered to evoke sympathy. He falls for it almost every time, anyway. Zayn is always on his arse about how he babies him, but he does the same thing, in reality. Amir is their sensitive little prince. 

"Mia, I don't care who started it, you don't hit. If you don't cut it out right now I'm gonna take something away from you when we get home."

"He's faking!" Mia hollers. "He always does that so you blame me instead!"

"No, he isn't, he's younger and it's harder for him not to cry!" Louis tries to breathe in deeply, but his sinuses feel like they're full of cotton.

The cars in front accordion ahead of a traffic jam, and he steps on the brakes as soon as he notices so he doesn't send the kids' brains flying against the front of their skulls. Fucking Los Angeles. 

"I'm sick of him," Mia snaps. "Take him back to the hospital."

Amir cries harder, at this.

"Mia, that's mean," Louis says. "Don't say shit like that. Someday you'll be bloody glad to have him. And Amir, don't bother your sister in the car, you know she hates it."

"But I'm bored!" he cries. 

Louis quickly leans back and hands him a tissue to wipe his face with. "Then look out the window!"

 

*

 

He sits the kids at a booth and gets in line; he's been waiting half a minute, sniffling and trying to remember if you're supposed to have dairy when you're sick, when someone prods him in the back.

Louis turns in annoyance, and to his great surprise sees Liam standing behind him, beaming.

“Hey!” Louis exclaims, and after a sort of awkward moment of hesitation, they hug.

“How you been?” Liam murmurs to him, patting him on the back.

“Ah, surviving… What about you?”

“Same.”

They separate, grinning at each other.

“Hey, let me buy your coffee,” Liam says.

“Oh, Payno, you don't have to.”

“It's a coffee, it's not gonna put me in the poorhouse.”

Louis laughs. “Alright, alright.”

The barista calls, “Next!”

“What're you having?” Liam says, edging forward and resting an elbow on the counter.

“Uh, cappuccino.”

“Can I get two cappuccinos?”

Liam pays and takes Louis gentlemanly by the arm, leading him over to little coffee drop-off spot. Louis studies his face; he hasn't seen him in person for a while. He's still boyishly handsome, but his face has slimmed out. He's beardier than usual, with a drawn quality to his features. He looks less open. There's a crease between his eyebrows that wasn't there before.

“So what’re you doing on the west coast?” Louis says.

“Cecilia’s making a move from the stage to, like, films,” he says, folding his arms and looking down. “She's out here full-time now, and I got a place so Sunday can see her as much as she likes. Never had a big attachment to New York, anyway.”

“Oh, alright. Wait, who's got custody?”

Liam points to himself with a wan little smile.

“Like, full physical custody?”

“Yeah. Visits with mum, but…”

“Wow. I didn't know, mate.”

“That's why I've been out of the mix lately,” he says. “Mr Single Dad. Well, you know how it is.”

“I do,” Louis says, glancing behind them at his kids in the booth. They're blowing straw wrappers at each other. “‘Course, Zayn's got them half the time now. But when we were separated…”

“Liam,” a barista calls out, and sets their cappuccinos down.

“You wanna meet them?” Louis says, sort of nervously. “They're right over there.”

Liam grins. “Yeah, of course! I've already met Mia, haven't I? At the -- that X-Factor reunion thing?”

“Yeah, yeah -- she was so little, though --”

They make their way over to the kids, keeping a specific distance between them.

“Hey,” Louis exclaims brightly, slipping into the booth.

Amir glances up. The sun is shining through the storefront window onto the back of his head, giving him a halo. “Cake pop?”

“Oh, shit, love, I forgot.”

“Daddy! You said!”

“But look, it's Liam!”

He points at Liam, who's hovering beside the table. He waves. Amir squints at him.

“Liam?” Mia repeats, like it's a riddle.

Louis tousles her hair. “You’ve met Liam, baby.”

“Did I?”

“Yes! He was in the band with me! Sit down, mate.”

Liam squeezes in next to Amir, who studies him in a very Zayn-like way.

“What band?” he says.

“The band me and your dad were in, love, the band I talk about all the time, the band that's the whole reason you exist and live the life of Riley?”

“Who's Riley?” Mia says.

“It's an expression.”

“You're so old.”

“Oi, I’m barely thirty!”

Liam is grinning at his coffee. “They're funny,” he says. “Spirited.”

“I know what that's code for,” Louis says, grinning back at him.

“No, I like it,” he insists, meeting Louis’ eyes. “They remind me of you and -- remind me of you both.”

“Do you know our other dad?” Mia says to him.

Liam nods. “Yeah. I used to.”

 

*

 

They part in the car park. Louis gets the kids settled and strapped in, then closes the back door, squinting up at Liam through the hazy LA sunshine.

“Hey, if you ever wanna grab a coffee without my _spirited_ children around, lemme know,” he says.

Liam laughs. “No, they were fun! We should get them together for a playdate with Sunday.”

“Yeah, absolutely. What's she like, with other kids?”

“Sweet. Quiet. Bit shy.”

He grins. “Mia would absolutely terrorize her. In a well-meaning way, but...”

Liam’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah? What’s this, One Direction, the next generation?”

“Stop! I never terrorized you!”

“No, you just were generally a terror.”

“ _Li-_ am!”

“Little Tasmanian devil running around --”

Louis, laughing, whaps him in the arm.

“Anyway, I’d love to get a coffee, Tommo.” Liam’s expression sobers. “I've missed you.”

Louis nods, his throat getting tight. “Missed you too.”

They linger there for a moment.

“You didn’t see any paps, did you?” he says, glancing behind Liam, who shrugs.

“What's it matter? We're both divorced now.”

Louis lets out a breathy laugh and breaks eye contact. “Right. Guess it doesn't.”

“Oh,” Liam says, and holds up one of the little paper to-go bags. “Got you a couple cake pops, while you were in the loo.”

“Aw, thanks. You're just Mr Moneybags today, huh?”

“That's me, Mr Moneybags, Mr Single Dad… I wear a lot of hats.”

“Which is too bad, ‘cos you've never had a hat face.”

“Aww,” Liam pouts. “I like hats!”

“You just look so much better without one.”

“You were never supportive of my snapback phase, I remember that.”

“No,” Louis exclaims, “I actually liked the snapbacks. You looked like an American dirtbag. I think I took the piss to cover for how much I liked them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you know me, I like a dirtbag.”

They smile at each other. Louis’ cheeks feel funny, all numb and hot. Liam still has such a cute smile.

“Well,” Liam says, “I’m off, but text me when you want, you know, those sad boy drinks, or a sad boy coffee, or a play date.”

“Will do, lad. See you.”

Louis watches him walk away, feeling a way he hasn't in quite a while.

 

 

*

 

The solar system proves too much for him and Mia to handle alone, even with the power back on, so he rings up Zayn, who’s luckily at home. He just bought a place in Coldwater Canyon that’s surrounded by forest, so he’s about a half hour’s drive from them, now, but it’s got a great park nearby for the kids, and he’s neighbors with Adele.

Zayn is over within the hour, carrying a bag of puffy paint. “Alright,” he says, coming into the sitting room and upending the bag onto the sofa next to Louis. “What’s the problem, loves?”

Mia looks up from the floor, where she’s surrounded by bits of cut-up cardboard, styrofoam balls and glue sticks. “Saturn,” she exclaims in frustration. “How d’you make rings? I don’t know. And Daddy doesn’t know either.”

Louis puts his hands up in defeat.

“We’ll figure it out,” Zayn says, pulling his phone from his pocket and sitting cross-legged next to Mia. “Look, ‘ere’s a Pinterest thing. So, we need a CD…”

“Want a cuppa?” Louis says to him. “I’m gonna go steam my face.”

“Yeah, love one, thanks.”

Louis pats him on the shoulder as he leaves them to go in the kitchen.

 

LOS ANGELES, APRIL 9, 2021

Louis spends way too long getting ready for drinks with Liam. He tries on like six different shirts, feeling stupider with every change, finally settling on a dark red scoopneck. He runs a bit of product through his hair, wrinkles his nose at himself in the mirror and mutters to the empty room, “Good enough, right? Could be worse?”

Downstairs in the sitting room, he finds Ingrid on her phone on the couch while the kids lounge on the rug, absorbed in Sesame Street.

He comes over and pats them both on the head. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” chirps Amir, who's resting on a very patient Bo like he's an armchair. “I like this episode.”

“Grover’s got carpal tunnel syndrome,” Ingrid says. “And Julia’s learning that not everyone can be good at playing the piano.”

Louis squints at the TV. “Guess that's educational enough.”

“Hey, you look nice, Louis,” Ingrid says.

He turns to her, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets. “Yeah? Just getting drinks with Liam.”

“Oh, right! Have fun.” She winks at him.

“It's just, y’know.” He awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck. “Friendly. Catching up with each other.”

“Well, it's nice to see you going out. It's been a while.”

“Daddy, I can't hear the TV,” Mia complains.

He ruffles her hair. “Someday you'll be off on your own and you'll miss me talking in your ear all the time.”

“D’you promise?”

“Cheeky! Bye, kids,” he calls, heading into the front hall to grab his jacket. “Bye, Ingrid. Don't burn the place down, loves.”

“Bye Daddy!” the kids chorus.

“Bye Louis! Oh, and I already fed the dog!”

“Thanks!”

 

*

 

They’re meeting at Opal downtown. Liam gets there before Louis does and texts him live updates:

_i'm here_

_it's veeeery crowded ok im going upstairs_

_oh it's bad up here too_

_okay i got a table it's way in the back in the corner i'm behind like a million people_

_oh joeys here! i told him hi from you_

_let me know when you get here i'll wave_

_never mind you can find me_

_let me know if you can't find me_

_want me to order you something?_

“Payno,” Louis screams into the dashboard voice-to-text, “hold on, alright, I’m driving! I'll have a beer!”

To his great offense, when he arrives, the bouncer almost doesn't let him up.

“I just don't recognize you, man,” he says, holding the end of the rope, scrutinizing Louis in the dim streetlight.

“It's that guy,” someone drunkenly calls from the long line of non-famous people waiting to get in. “That guy from the -- I can't remember.”

“One Direction,” a girl nearer to the front yells.

“Yeah! He was in One Direction!”

People start chorusing in the affirmative. Someone starts singing _What Makes You Beautiful._ The bouncer sighs and undoes the rope.

“Thank you,” Louis shouts at the crowd as he heads in. They whoop at him. “Cheers.”

The roof is exactly as packed as Liam warned him, just throng after throng of model/actresses mingling with stiffs in suits. It looks like a casting call for extras for the Entourage reunion movie. Finally he finds Liam, in a corner booth at the back like he said, drinking something fruity with his legs up across the seats as if to save a space for Louis.

“Hey, mate,” Louis says warmly.

Liam beams at him. “Hey! Got your beer.”

He scoots over to the other side of the corner, and Louis takes a seat where he just was. He wonders if Liam did this on purpose; making sure they sit at a right angle to each other, so there's none of the intimacy of sitting next to each other but not the eye contact pressure of sitting across.

The view is beautiful. Los Angeles is spread out underneath them like a twinkling dark blanket.

“Sorry about all the texts,” Liam says, leaning back in his seat.

Louis grins. “You nervy?”

“I got here too early! And it was awkward, ‘cos people I know kept coming up and trying to sit down, and I told them I was meeting _you_ , and then…” He trails off and sips his cocktail. “You know, people make their _comments_ about us… Everyone's like, _ohhh_ , a date?”

“I know,” Louis says, laughing. “Got the same shit from my nanny.”

Liam glances down at his hands, his dark eyelashes fanning against the tops of his cheekbones. “Silliness,” he murmurs.

Louis drinks a lot of his beer at once. “Yeah,” he says, wiping foam off his lips. “Well, hey, you'll appreciate this, I almost didn't get let in.”

“No!” Liam says, his mouth making an O. “But you said you come here loads!”

“I do! I reckon it's a new bouncer. The line had to vouch for me, it was embarrassing.”

Liam laughs.

“They sang _What Makes You Beautiful_ at me, I’m dead serious.”

He laughs harder. “Maybe it was for a confidence boost?”

“Getting snubbed at Opal, that's what makes you beautiful.”

“ _Na, na na, na na na na na_ …”

“By the way, what the fuck are you drinking?”

Liam glances down at it. “Sex on the beach,” he says with an exaggerated wink, and snags the straw with his tongue, sucking down the rest of it.

“That got any alcohol in it whatsoever?”

“A thimbleful,” Liam says. “A tablespoon, if we're being generous. Keep in mind, though, I have had five.”

“ _Five_?”

“I got here really early!”

“Alright,” Louis says, and shotguns the rest of his beer. “I’ve got to catch up with you, then.”

“Didn't you drive here?”

“Fuck it, I'll call a car.”

 

*

 

“And then,” Liam says, gesturing laconically, “she just _gets up,_ an’ walks out of his office.”

“No!” Louis exclaims. “After five minutes?”

“I had to sit there and do couples counseling with _myself_. We…” Liam grins. “We rolerplayed. Roleplayed. He pretended to be her, and then I pretended to be her, and it got very weird.”

“Oh, Payno,” Louis slurs. “What a pisser.”

“It's okay!” He puts a hand up. “I'm so way past this. I'm very past this. I'm in therapy.”

“Ayy, me too!”

They high five.

“I didn't tell you yet why I left Zayn, did I?” Louis says.

The lights in the corners of his eyes are very blurry, now, but Liam's face is sweet, and his arm is wrapped around him, and the breeze on the rooftop is nice and cool.

“No, you didn't,” Liam says, with his soft, full lips.

_Stop looking at his lips!_

“Well,” Louis says, and looks down at the beer in his hands. It's his fourth beer, and his last. “What d’you know to start with? I know shits gets around. Shit.”

Liam shrugs. “I know he’s had a drinking problem for a while.”

“Aye.”

“I know you were fighting a lot… Couple people said you were having problems.”

“Was Niall one of ‘em?”

Liam chews on his little black drink straw. “Maybe…”

“Did he tell you ‘e cheated on me?” Louis says, very quietly, looking down at the table between them.

Liam lets out a breath and runs his hand up and down Louis’ back. “No. He didn't.”

Somehow that touch doesn't feel like pity, when Liam does it.

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs. “It was just one slip. But it was too much for me to handle. Couldn't trust ‘im anymore. So we had a separation, an’ I realized we were both better off, like, it’d become toxic. So I just… I let ‘im go.”

“I'm so sorry, Louis.”

He waves his hand. “I'm alright. I’m movin’ on. It was a clean break. At least he tried, with rehab and things. He wanted to make it better. It was just too much for us. We were too similar, in a lot of ways. Anyway, now he can go find somebody who’ll actually be comfortable going to the Met Gala with ‘im, or whatever.”

“Him trying is worth a lot,” Liam says. “Shows how much he cared.”

“Right. Yeah, I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I can't imagine if he'd stayed like, stubborn and in denial that there was a problem… I’m sorry, Payno. You must've felt so alone, toward the end of it.”

He nods. “It was isolating, yeah. She always blamed me for a lot of our problems… I dunno. We rushed things, like I said, it was this big romantic thing. You know, she's from this old New York family, and it was really like the _Lady and the Tramp_ , or whatever. She took me to the orchestra, and the opera -- I actually like opera now!”

Louis grins. “Really?”

“Yeah! It's fun. But, you know, the honeymoon fades. And when you've got a kid, it fades so much harder.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“And she really -- and this was the case even before Zayn’s song, so don't feel guilty -- she just couldn't handle the tabloids and the pressure, being hounded. She felt like it was so low-class, and she thought I could somehow change all that if I just laid low, but I told her I couldn't just throw away my career. I wonder, sometimes, if --" he hesitates. "Well, her parents didn't like me much. Not at first, anyway. I sort of wonder if she picked me 'cos she wanted to get out of that world of hers, go slumming, and it backfired, 'cos we were from totally different worlds."

"Oh, Liam," Louis says softly, the words tumbling out of him. "How could being with you be slumming? Being with you is the opposite of slumming. You're so sweet, and kind..."

Liam colors slightly and smiles at him, shaking his head. "Not all the time."

"Yeah, all the time." His voice pitches up with sincerity. "I know you, lad."

He seems a bit flustered by this, and looks down at his hands. "Um... anyway, what I was getting at, was -- I don't think she realized that parenting would change things between us, either, like, that Sunday was gonna become my main priority. So in the end she sort of gave up on us when it got to be too much work. She blamed me for a lot, I suppose.” He falls quiet for a moment, his dark brow shifting, the light in his eyes dimming. “Took me a long time to realize I wasn't as at fault as she kept telling me.”

“She's daft,” Louis says firmly. “I'm serious, she's really fucking stupid for letting you go. I mean that.”

Liam chuckles. “You're just buttering me up so I'll keep buying you coffees,” he says, clearly wanting to lighten the moods.

Louis gasps, faking theatrics. “How could you… I've got nothing but honorable intessions -- intentions…”

“You just say intessions?”

“Don't laugh at me, Mr Sex on the beach! This is what ‘appens when a real man drinks real drinks!”

“You've had li-ike... _three_ beers, you absolute lightweight.” Liam holds up three fingers in his face.

Louis bats his hand away. “Four! Anyway, you know who he cheated on me with? You wanna -- you're gonna laugh.”

Liam goggles at him. “I'm gonna _laugh_?”

“Cheated with Harry’s boyfriend at the time.”

“ _What_?”

“‘E was dating this model. This model who fucked my husband at a poker game Harry and Zayn woz at. So Zayn comes home, and 'e's like, hey, honey, I've been out fucking around! And I kick him out, an’ then, an’ then -- Harry texts me, like, hey, Zayn drank tonight at poker! Is Zayn drinking again? An’ I call him --”

“At which bit do I -- am I gonna laugh?”

“Shh! I call Harry and I scream at him, did you fuck my husband?” Louis falls out laughing. “And he's like, you know how he gets, he's like, ex- _cuuuuuuuse_ meeeeee?”

Liam starts laughing. “God, Louis!”

“I've ‘ad a bad fuckin’ year, mate. I mean, this happened last year. Calendar -- calendrically, I've ‘ad a bad year.”

Liam reaches up and strokes his fringe off of his forehead. “You seem like you're doing pretty well, in spite of it.”

Louis smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiles back. “You look good, too.”

Louis’ face gets hot. His lips twitch, and he glances down.

“Shit,” Liam says, biting his lip and dropping his arm from Louis’ shoulder. “Keep doing that.”

“It's okay,” Louis murmurs. “It's nice to hear. Been a bit insecure lately.”

“Hey, I don't wanna, like…” He trails off hesitantly, then picks up again, more sure. “What Zayn did, it might not be my place to say -- I haven't been in your life for a while, I'm hearing all this secondhand…”

“Liam, I met your ex-wife all of once and I just said she was a daft idiot. Go ahead.”

Liam laughs appreciatively. “I just wanna say, the cheating… You don't deserve that. Nobody deserves that, but. Ah, I dunno. Sort of can't begin to understand why he'd risk losing you like that.”

Louis nods. His face grows warm, and he looks down at the table. “Yeah,” he says, then adds lightly: "Well, he's a bit of a shithead sometimes, isn’t he."

“Sometimes.”

“He's had a rough go of it, though. Feel like I've got to defend him, and, y’know. He has.” He inhales. “He's loads better now though! Going to AA, got all these projects going. Looks great. Fucking gorgeous models all the time. Seems better in every way, honestly. Reckon being married to me is just that awful.”

“Oh, Tommo, I'm so sure that ain't true.” Liam hesitates, then offers, “Everything else aside, I always got the impression he really loved you.”

Louis steels himself against the familiar pain of this. It's like a war wound. “Anyway, what were you saying before?”

Liam’s eyes twinkle. “Was saying you look good.”

“So do you,” he murmurs. “You look, ah, manly.”

Liam chuckles. “Manly?”

“Woodsy.” Louis indicates the beard.

“Oh, yeah.” Liam strokes it contemplatively. “My sad man beard.”

“You don't look sad though, mate. You just look… older. Bit wiser.”

“I am that,” Liam says, with a rueful smile. His eyes are really warm and bright from the alcohol. “Both of those.”

“Me too.”

“Here. Toast.” Liam clinks his glass to Louis’ beer bottle. “To being older and wiser.”

“Yeah. Fuck yeah. I'll drink to that. Here's t’ ‘avin’ your soul sucked out through your willy.”

“Heyyy,” Liam cheers, and throws the watered-down dregs of his drink back.

 

*

 

They ride back in Liam’s town car together, chatting amiably about their kids, and then Liam walks him up to his door, a hand lightly pressed to the small of his back.

They keep talking at the door, not wanting to let each other go. Finally, there's a lull in the conversation where they're both just gazing at each other, and at the same time they start babbling about needing to let the nanny off.

“So, um.” Liam takes a step away, toward his car, which is waiting a ways down the driveway with its headlights dimmed. “Coffee? Maybe next week?”

“Love a coffee next week.”

Liam finger guns him as he walks backward. “Super.”

Louis grins. “Did you just -- what _was_ that?”

“I dunno!”

“C’mere, Payno, get back here.”

Liam comes back to him, smiling boyishly. “What?”

Louis studies him, then flaps his hand. “Never mind. Nothin’. Text me about coffee.”

“Sounds good,” Liam says, and then stumbles off the front steps, but immediately rights himself.

“You good, mate?”

“Always,” Liam says, bouncing away.

“Alright. Get home safe.”

“Night!”

 

BEVERLY HILLS, APRIL 15, 2021

Louis is futzing around in the bathroom trying to figure out which cologne to put on when Mia appears, her hair tied up in a high pony and a smear of glitter across her cheek.

“What's up, love?” he says to her. “What's with the glitter?”

“Me and Petra are playing glitter princess,” she says. “It's where we dress Amir up like a princess and then we cover him in glitter until he gets tired of it.”

Louis winces. “Can't you all play cops and robbers or summat?”

“But he's a pretty princess. Nan always says he has your cheekbones.”

“You know, we made your dad dress up like a girl once, and then he left the band.”

Mia squints at him.

“Never mind.”

“It's your fault for not giving me a little sister,” she retorts.

“Yeah, yeah yeah. Which smells better?”

He spritzes one cologne into the air, then the other.

“They both smell funny,” she says. “Grown ups are so dumb. Why don't you smell like bubble gum or something?”

“Which smells less funny?”

“The first one.”

“Alright.” He spritzes it on his neck and wrists.

“What are you dressed up for?” Mia says.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just a coffee.”

“With Daddy?” she says hopefully.

“No?” He squats down next to her. “Why would it be with Daddy, love?”

She casts her eyes down, twisting back and forth like she does when she's telling him she misbehaved in school. “So you get back together.”

“Mims,” Louis says gently. “You don't want us to get back together. You said so.”

“I don't,” she says. “I don't like it when you and him yell. And I don't like it you cry and you're sad. But I miss him living here. And I miss our old house, and Amir isn't as fun anymore. He always wants to be alone. And when I'm with Daddy, I miss you."

Louis swallows with difficulty. “Love, none of his is your fault. It's okay if you need to be upset. I know this is really hard for both of you. We all have to feel what we're feeling.”

“You used smell funny and wear nice clothes to go out with Daddy,” Mia says, looking up at him, her light eyes ghostly with tears. “And then you'd come home and laugh.”

He strokes her hair. “Listen, you haven’t got to be mad at him, love. I know you're loyal to me, but I still love your dad, okay? I'm not angry with him. I just can't be married to him anymore. And I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry it means we don't all live in the same house.”

“Can you live in the same house and not be married?” she says hopefully. “And then we're all together, but you don't yell, and you're not sad.”

Louis inhales. “That would be really hard on me and your dad, loves. When people aren't married anymore, they have to move on and have new lives. We talked about all this when we sat down with you, remember?”

“I don't like it,” she says sternly, and sniffles.

“You've been so tough, you know that?” Louis wipes a tear off her cheek. “You're my little helper, you've been so good with your brother. I need you, you know that? I need you to stay tough for me.”

“You said that to Amir! And he's not tough! He's a crybaby!”

“Don't call him a crybaby. I mean it when I say it to you. He's sensitive, alright? You're my little firecracker. You don't get fazed so easy.”

She smiles.

“When you're older, you'll understand all this, and it won't hurt so much. We're just in a funny in-between time, and it's hard. But I love you more than anything in the entire world. You're me whole life, you kids. And… if you aren't ready yet for me to go out smelling funny with people who aren't your dad, you just tell me, alright?”

“No,” Mia says, shaking her head. “I like it when you're smiley and you laugh and make up little songs.”

“Have I been doing that?”

She nods.

“I didn't realize.”

“Are you smelling funny for the man from Starbucks?” she says, fixing him with a canny stare. “The one you were smiling at a lot?”

Louis bites at his lip. “Yeah, but he's just a friend, love. Old friend from way back.”

“Whatever,” she says, having lost interest. “Is Ingrid watching us?”

“No, Aunt Lottie’s coming over.”

“Yesss,” Mia exclaims. “Aunt Lottie lets us play Wolfenstein!”

“She does _what_?”

Mia dashes out of the room. “Ami-ir! Aunt Lottie’s coming!”

Louis chases after her. “Who put Wolfenstein on the Playstation? I don't remember buying that!”

 

*

 

They don't go to Starbucks this time -- they go to a nice cafe in Encino with a shady patio. Or it would be shady, but it's a grotesquely sunny day and also high noon, so Louis has to dig his aviators out of his glovebox.

Liam is seated in the corner again, looking at his phone. There's no one else around; everyone’s seated inside, not wanting to brave the sun.

He’s got sunglasses on, too, and he’s trimmed his beard. Wearing a henley, looking overall very attractive.

Louis decides, right then, that he refuses to let anything happen with Liam. This is ridiculous. Their friendship means too much to him, and he's only just got it back, so he's going to go ahead and rebound with absolutely anyone else on the earth and leave poor Liam alone. It's so stupid to be letting him immediately back into his heart like this. Singing in the shower? It's downright pornographic. _Fuck someone who wasn't in One Direction for once, you idiot_ , he tells himself furiously, then goes over and sits down.

“Hey!” Liam says with a smile. “Got you a cappuccino.”

“Thanks, mate,” Louis says weakly.

“So, before I forget…”

“Yeah?”

“I hadn't heard your last album, and I listened to all of yesterday.”

“Oh, sick! You like it?”

“Loved it,” Liam says. “Ridiculously sad, though. I listened in the car and cried at a stoplight.”

“Shit, no!” he exclaims. “I didn't want it to be _that_ sad!”

“No, no, it's alright,” he says with a wry grin. “It was probably just on my end -- divorced boy tears. Very cathartic. Oh, and I cried at… what was that one track? _Heart Of Ours_? It was about having a daughter, right?”

“Yeah! You know, nobody besides Zayn picked up on that?”

“You joking? I got it right away! I was bawling!”

They smile at each other.

“My music hasn't been quite as, like…” Liam drums his fingers on the table. “Haven't been pouring out my heart so much. After the band it just felt nice to be more abstract, more private. Like, in a lot of ways, it was the first time I really got to be myself, personality-wise, so I made the music less vulnerable to compensate, maybe? I dunno.”

“Nah, I get it. I like your stuff. I'm sorry if I never really told you that.”

“Ah, it's fine. You know, I’ve missed…” He draws a little triangle with his fingers, still not looking up at Louis. “Missed having you as lyrics man. That part’s always tougher for me.”

“Well, I missed my melody man,” Louis murmurs.

They're quiet for a moment.

“Hey,” Liam says. “It's really fucking hot out here.”

“It is, it's disgusting.”

“Want to take these to go and head back to my place, watch some football?”

Louis pretends to think about it. “Actual football or American football?”

“Tommo, the Super Bowl was in February.”

“Well, I dunno what you've got going on with your DVR.”

“I can't believe you’ve lived in the states this long and you're still against football.”

“It's not football,” Louis says, pointing a finger at him. “Football is football. It is gridiron handsball.”

“ _Anyway_ , it's Arsenal today.”

“Oh, right, it is.” He grins. “Yeah, I’d love to watch football, Liam.”

“Brilliant, lemme give you my addy.”

 

*

 

Liam beats Louis back to his place, which is a sprawling modernist feat of architecture perched atop a hill.

Liam greets him at the door, smiling and a bit more flustered-looking. “Hey,” he says. “I thought the nanny took Sunday to her friend Jane’s house, but Jane’s brother’s got giardia from water-skiing, and they're not supposed to have visitors? So they're over here, if that's cool.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely. I'd like to meet your kid, if that's alright.” He pauses. “Wait, he got _giardia_ from water-skiing?”

“Right? I said the same thing,” Liam says over his shoulder as he leads Louis into the gleaming, sort of minimalist house.

They go into the sitting room, where Sunday is sitting and sculpting Play-Dough with a girl her age who's got that pageboy haircut that's become popular again lately.

Louis recognizes Sunday from the pictures Liam’s sent him; curly chestnut hair, sweet round face. On the walls, he sees a couple of platinum records, family pictures, some massive paintings of seascapes, but not much else. The color scheme is muted blues and grays. It's pretty clear he's just moved in.

“Hey sweetie,” Liam says, and Sunday glances up. “All good?”

“Yep! I made you something,” she says, and holds a little Play-Dough figurine up to him.

He kneels and takes it. “Is it a cat?”

Sunday nods. “I'm getting good at the ears,” she says, and holds her fingers up against her temples as if to indicate ears.

“You are, definitely,” he says. “Thanks so much. How goes it, Jane?”

“Okay,” Jane says shyly. “I made a ballerina.”

She holds up what looks to Louis like a green bean made of Play-Dough. Liam squints at it, then gives her a thumbs up. “Excellent work. I love it.”

Louis steels himself against the fluttering of his stupid heart and follows Liam into the kitchen, where he's handed a beer.

“Sorry I didn't introduce you,” Liam whispers as he twists the top off his own beer. “I will when you leave. Been trying to ease her into new things. It's been sort of chaotic, this past year --”

“No, no, I completely get it.”

“I just worry,” Liam continues, and takes a sip. “When she gets older -- y’know. I do worry about her hearing that people think you and me had an affair. Like, after we were married, I mean. I know that's sort of ridiculous.”

“Not at all.” Louis inhales. “I’ve got my own worries. It's hard, ‘cos they're at that age where they ask questions, but they don't quite grasp grown-up drama… but you know someday they will.”

“Exactly.” Liam takes a seat at the island, and Louis joins him. The kitchen is all wood and steel, and it's bouncing the lovely afternoon light, making everything in it glow. “And it's tough, ‘cos I want her to have a good relationship with her mum, but the fact is that Ceci just wasn't interested in being a full-time parent anymore.” His face shifts, growing less sunny. His dark eyes briefly harden. “And there's sort of a -- like, I want to protect her from that, you know? I don't want Ceci to be in a position to let her down, like. It's a balancing act.”

"She said that? The full-time thing?"

Liam nods, his jaw tight. "She never wanted that, really. I was always the more involved parent. She adores her, of course, but I think -- I don't know if she knew how hard it would be. I mean, I didn't either, but --" he inhales. "I, um, I really don't want to do this -- talk bad about Ceci to you --"

"Oh, no, no, lad, of course. I didn't mean to pry."

"You didn't," Liam assures him. "I just -- I want to vent, but I also don't? I don't want to disrespect her. Does that sound stupid?" 

Louis smiles at him. "No. I feel the same way about Zayn. Like... I'm the only one who's allowed to be angry at him."

His face relaxes in the wake of being understood. "Exactly."

Louis presses his cool beer to the side of his face. “Either way, I'm really sorry, Payno.”

“Hey, you've got your own shit.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I dunno. Hard to know how candid I'm going to be with them, when they're older. ‘Cos I don't want them to think badly of Zayn, at all. He's a great dad. He wasn’t a bad husband. He was fun, he was romantic, he made me laugh. It just wasn't a good match, long-term, and he did some shitty things. I wasn't exactly my best self, either. I don't want them to ever know, but I also don't want them to think we just threw away our marriage. ‘Cos the divorce has been hard on them. So, yeah... I know exactly what you mean.”

“It's like…” Liam pauses. “It's like you don't even know what angle to protect them from. It's all shit. And no matter how much I hide her away from the paps and the industry, how normal her life is, mine still ain't. And it never will be. And Ceci’s never will be again. It drives me crazy, sometimes. I lie awake thinking about it.”

“I'm so sorry about that fucking song,” Louis mutters, and he looks ashamedly away, down at the mouth of his beer bottle. “I know you told me not to be, but, look, it's my fault. Zayn and I had this nasty fight about you, and I told him about the Brits, ‘cos I wanted him to know I pushed you away, that I said no. But all he heard was that you tried to kiss me, an’ he like -- he gets so _stuck_ on things, when he feels betrayed --”

Liam winces. “Louis, that's all on me. That's completely my fault. That and the call at Christmas… Way over the line. I dunno what came over me. I was being a selfish shithead.”

“No,” he says, laughing, and sips his beer. “You could never be a shithead. You were just acting without thinking, we've all done it.”

“But I never don't think about things!” Liam slaps a hand over his chest. “Me? I agonize on everything! It’s something about you, you know? You make me so impulsive. Maybe that's why I avoided you all these years.”

“Nah, you've been impulsive for girls, too. Love’s what makes you impulsive, not me.”

Liam pauses, then says, “Same thing.”

Prickly heat crawls up Louis’ neck, over his ears and into his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he says, laughing, “I didn't mean -- I was in love with you then, is all I meant.”

“Right, ‘course.” Louis looks up at him, and they lock eyes. “I was with you too, for a while.”

“I'm sorry.” He sounds pained. “You were pregnant, and I complicated everything for you. I should’ve left well enough alone.”

Louis shrugs. “You did! I climbed on you.”

Liam chuckles, his eyes crinkling. “I dunno if _climbed_ on me is the right word?”

“I literally -- I climbed on top of you and begged you to fuck me.”

Liam’ cheeks are pink, and his gaze is bouncing all around the room. “It wasn't -- I very much wanted to. It wasn’t an, erm, imposition.”

Louis starts laughing. “An _imposition_?”

“I'm just saying! I mean, didn't I -- I was sitting there crying to you about how I had feelings for you…” Liam rubs at his forehead, grinning. “Wow, that was pathetic of us, wasn't it? Christ.”

“I mean, you were on the rebound, it's understandable.”

“Yeah, and you were on a double rebound,” Liam says. “Eleanor and then Zayn.”

“Shit. You're right.”

“And pregnant. And really vulnerable. See? I was being a shithead.”

“Not a shithead,” Louis says softly. “A shithead would’ve used me to get his end away. You loved me. You offered to marry me. It was very sweet, actually. You were only twenty-one, mate.”

Liam’s lips twitch up. He spins his beer bottle in a circle on the island. “I still feel guilty.”

“You shouldn't. Ancient history.”

“Yeah.”

“I felt rotten for tossing you aside, actually,” says Louis, a bit throatily.

“Ah, no,” Liam murmurs. “You did exactly what you should've done. Don't worry about me. I did just fine.”

“Ancient history, you're right.”

Neither of them says anything for a moment.

“So,” Louis says, clapping his hands against his thighs. “We gonna watch this fuckin’ game or not?”

“Yeah, absolutely, please.”

 

*

 

When they come upstairs again, Jane has gone, and Sunday is sitting on the couch next to the nanny watching TV as the latter folds clothes.

“Sunday,” Liam calls to her across the open-plan house from the top of the stairs. She looks over, curls bouncing. “C’mere.”

She obediently trots over to them.

“I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine,” Liam says. “This is Louis. He’s in the band with me.”

Louis smiles appreciatively at his use of present tense, and drops down to be at Sunday-level. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” she says, studying him carefully.

“What do we say?” Liam prompts.

“Nice to meet you,” she adds.

“Lovely to meet you, too.”

She extends her hand. After a moment, Louis realizes she wants him to shake it. He grins at her and does so.

 

*

 

When Louis gets home, Amir greets him at the door with a handful of dandelions he's pulled up.

“Flowers,” he says helpfully. He's got gold glitter all in his hair and clothes, and smeared across his little cheeks.

Louis takes them, smiling. “Thanks, love. Want me to get that glitter off you?”

“Yeah,” Amir says. “It makes me sneezy.”

Louis leads him into the kitchen, puts the dandelions in water, then grabs a bottle of olive oil and a flannel and kneels to wipe off Amir’s face.

Amir wriggles. “Don't get it in my eyes!”

“I'm not, love.”

“Feels like it's in my eyes.”

“I think you've got glitter in your eyes, is what you've got. Why do you let Mia do this?”

“She likes it.”

“You know you don't have to do things just because she and her friends want to.”

“I know.” He's quiet for a moment, as Louis gently strokes the flannel over his cheek, picking up glitter. “I like it when everyone's having fun.”

“Even if you're not?”

Amir looks confused. “If everybody's having fun, it's good.”

“But are _you_ having fun?”

“Huh?”

“What do you like to do? What's your favorite thing in the whole world right now?”

Amir considers this. “To find frogs.”

Louis smiles. “Where are you finding frogs?”

“At school they've got frogs,” he says. “When we go out to recess. There's trees, and a little pond and there's big rocks, and under the rocks is worms and little rolly bollies, and the frogs live in the pond, and they come eat the worms. My teacher told me that. It's the circus of life.”

“Circle of life, I think.”

“Oh. Circle of life.”

Louis brushes the glitter out of his dark floppy hair.

“I like when Mia’s happy,” Amir says. “She's my favorite. But don't tell her.”

Louis grins at him, his heart dancing with joy. “I won't tell her, kiddo.”

“My friend Hector thinks he's my favorite, but he's not.”

“Poor Hector.”

Amir shrugs, like, easy come easy go.

“What do you like about being alone?” Louis says, tossing the flannel over his shoulder.

“I can do whatever I want. Nobody tells me how to play. At school the girls chase me around and make me me play house and do dumb games with them, and they make all the rules and tell me what to do.”

“Maybe they have crushes on you.”

“ _Ew_ ,” Amir exclaims. “Gross! They better not!”

“My little heartbreaker.”

“I just want to play with frogs!”

“Good,” Louis says firmly. “Stay that way as long as you can.”

 

LOS ANGELES, MAY 1, 2021

“So,” Niall says, handing Louis a beer as he returns to their booth in the VIP lounge at Banana. “This is the evening where we get you laid.”

“Maybe,” Louis clarifies. “If I connect with somebody.”

“No, Tommo!” Niall slides into the booth and drunkenly slaps his hand down on the table. “You don't need a connection! You are gonna have nasty party-boy sex in the bathroom! You're gonna make me proud tonight!”

“The last time I had nasty party-boy sex in a bathroom, I was three months pregnant and I almost threw up while she was going down on me.”

“Alright, not bathroom, then. You'll take somebody home. The kids aren't there, right? Zayn's got ‘em?”

Louis glances over at Niall’s gentle Irish face in the dark. His left cheek is lit up blue by the strobes from the dance floor below them. “Yeah, I'm alone tonight.”

“Well.” He nudges him. “You wanted a rebound, yeah?”

“I'll dance,” Louis says, putting his hands up. “I'll dance, and we’ll see where it goes.”

“Drink your beer!”

“Alright!” he exclaims, downing a third of it.

“Tough love, lad! Tough love!”

“Oi, Roy Keane, can you relax?”

“I'm sorry,” Niall says, clapping him on the back. “I just really want you t’ get laid.”

“Is this about the Zayn thing?”

Pictures had surfaced the other day of Zayn snogging some bird poolside. Louis has been as fine with it as he can possibly imagine being -- it wasn't even a gut punch to see them, more of a ball tap. Zayn had texted him as soon as they went up, saying, _really_ _sorry about this, i didn't think there were paps there. it's nothin serious honestly. just trying to get my feet wet again_

Louis said back, _We're not married anymore mate . It just isn't shit I want the kids seeing so keep it discreet if you can… otherwise don't worry about it_

He meant that -- especially since he had spent a while bracing himself for the eventuality of this -- but it did light a fire under his arse to try and get out there again, because it's been at least six months since he last had sex, and the tension in his meetups with Liam is starting to get to him. Last week they brushed hands while reaching for the same drink menu, and Louis nearly jumped out of his skeleton.

So he's out with Niall, who’s in the middle of an off period in his on-again, off-again thing with Ellie, very drunk and acting a bit nutty.

“Maybe it is about Zayn,” Niall admits. “Just ‘cos he can't win, I won't let him.”

“It's not _winning_.”

“I don't like him getting back out there before you have!”

“Why?”

“It's not fair,” Niall exclaims. “‘Cos, y'know!”

“‘Cos he cheated?”

“No!… Sorta!”

“Fine, you wanna dance?” Louis stands up and grandly extends a hand to him. “Let’s dance.”

Niall takes it, and Louis leads him downstairs, past the velvet rope and into the dark, seething mass of bodies.

 

*

 

Louis ends up dancing and snogging with a really pretty brunette who plies him with vodka sodas until he's half-falling down and tells her that if she wants anything to happen, he needs to stop drinking. So she grabs him around the back of the neck and says, “Yours or mine?”

He quickly says goodbye to Niall, who’s dancing in a big happy scrum of blokes and gives him a very vigorous hair tousle when he sees Louis is leaving with someone. “That's my Tommo!” he crows. “There he is! Lock up your daughters!"

“Okay, Niall,” Louis says with a grin. “See you later, goofy. Get home safe.”

“Text me!” Niall shouts before being carried away by the movement of the crowd.

 

*

 

In the dark backseat of the car, they introduce themselves in between snogging: she says, “I'm Renata,” and when he starts to respond, she purrs, “Oh, I know who you are,” which is never a good sign, but he’s pretty hard and she's pulling his hair the way he likes, so he lets it go by.

They stumble into the house, not switching on any lights. Louis slowly leads her upstairs, her hands cupped to his back between his shoulder blades and his hands around her waist. He leads her down the hall to his bedroom. In his drunkenness, he almost turns left instead of right; in the old house, his and Zayn’s bedroom was at the end of the hall to the left. He thinks of Zayn with a tender pang.

Louis drops her back onto the bed and crawls up to meet her. She grins at him, stroking his face. “You're cute.”

“You're not so bad yourself,” he murmurs.

“You have a condom?”

“Oh, yeah, loads.”

He hasn't put one on himself in a while; he takes about two seconds too long fumbling with it, and Renata takes over for him, laughing, then pulls him down against the bed with her.

“I’m gonna ride the shit out of you,” she growls in his ear.

“Go for it,” Louis breathes back. “Go -- absolutely, go ahead.”

They fuck in a sort of insane, frantic, athletic way, clawing at each other and sucking hickies on each other. Louis is jubilantly relieved to be so wanted by somebody so hot who doesn't care about him in the least. It's exactly what he needed.

And then she rolls him over so she's on top and he can just lie there, which is his favorite thing in the world.

She comes before he does and rides him more furiously. He feels like a cheap racehorse.

“I want you to come,” Renata murmurs to him as she circles her hips.

“Sorry,” Louis exhales. “Drank too much. Working on it.”

“Can I finger you?”

“Ah, yeah, be careful, though.” He can tell she's an alpha.

“I didn't touch myself,” she pants.

“‘S’ hard to -- _ah_ \-- hard to tell sometimes…”

“Are you on anything? Like birth control?”

“Yeah.”

“It's fine, then.”

“Let’s not risk it,” Louis says, even though he knows he's being irrational.

She shrugs and leans down over him, her dark hair tickling his collarbone, sucking at his lip and clutching at his arse. He exhales and starts rocking his hips more powerfully.

Finally, he comes, dropping his head back against the pillow. Renata rolls off him, breathing heavily, and he ties the condom off and tosses it aside.

She pats his chest with a dark-nailed hand. “Want me to head out?”

“Nah, sleep here if you want.”

“Thanks. It's pretty late.”

“Yeah.”

He tugs the sheets up over himself. He's in really good shape, right now, and the few stretch marks he has have mostly faded, but he's still a bit insecure. Before the Xander thing, he never doubted that Zayn found him attractive. He misses that security.

 

*

 

“So,” Louis says the next morning when they're in the foyer, looking for an earring Renata lost while they were mauling each other on their way in. “What d’you do?”

“I'm an actress,” she says, peering in the base of his potted spider orchid. “Which means I'm a waitress. But I was just in a commercial.”

“Oh, sick, which one?”

“Nescafé,” she says. “I don't think you would have seen it. It mostly aired in Turkey.” She looks at her watch. “Shit, I really have to get going.”

“If you want, I can keep an eye out and text you.”

“Don't worry about it,” she says. “They were like ten dollars. But if you wanted my number for another reason…”

Renata looks over at him hopefully. Louis is trying to formulate a polite response when a key turns in the front door.

Zayn walks in, all breezy. “Hey,” he says to Louis. “I need to pick up that book Yas is supposed to read by Monday…”

Mid-sentence, he notices Renata, and looks over at her with one of his loftily nonplussed expressions.

“This is Renata,” Louis says. “Renata, this is my -- this is Zayn.”

“Hey,” Zayn says.

She smiles uneasily back at him. “I'm gonna go,” she says to Louis. “Nice to meet you. Both of you.”

“Wait, lemme call you a car,” Louis says.

“No need! Got a Lyft!” She holds her phone up, then hustles out the front door, and as it closes they watch her teeter down the driveway in last night’s stilettos.

“Renata,” Zayn repeats, with a lot of A in it.

Louis folds his arms across his chest. “Don't,” he pleads. “I feel weird enough as it is.”

Zayn gives him a brief, crooked smile. “Nah, she was cute, mate. Glad to see you're, like… getting back out there.”

“Are you really?”

He shrugs. “No. You glad I am?”

“No,” Louis says. “It hurts.”

“Well, there you go.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I'm sorry too.”

They don't say anything for a moment.

“Neither of us are doing anythin’ wrong,” Louis points out.

Zayn nods. “Nah. Reckon it’s just gonna feel like this for a while.”

“Yeah.” Louis exhales. “Lemme get you that book.”

 

LOS ANGELES, MAY 13, 2021

Louis spends all day hanging at the studio with Liam, who’s helping produce a track for Dave East. He Snapchats a selfie with Liam, who sticks his tongue out, and Niall chats him with freaky speed. _Hey you two together ??_

 _Yeah we are physically in the same room ?_ , Louis says back, not sure what he means.

_Alright awesome. what are you doing later_

_I think it's back to mine to watch football . why what's up, you wanna come through ?_

_No reason just wondering_

_Niall what are you up to_

_nothin :-),_ he says.

“Niall’s being weird,” Louis announces.

Liam slips his headphones off. “Weird how?”

“Weird sneaky? He asked if I was with you.”

“Huh.” Liam considers this. “Oh, Harry’s in town. Might have something to do with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, me and him were gonna hang out at some point.”

Louis edges his rolly chair closer to Liam, so he can look over his shoulder at his work. “You two hang out a lot?”

Liam shrugs. “Not so much for a while. He did like two movies back to back, and I've had Sunday. But a decent amount.”

“I haven't seen him since the VMAs,” Louis admits. “It's been years.”

“Weird,” Liam says.

“You think Niall’s trying to Parent Trap me and him?”

Liam laughs hard at this. He laces his hands behind his head and stretches. “Maybe.”

 

*

 

Louis has all but forgotten about this by the time they get back to the house; he and Liam are still laughing over a stupid impression Liam was doing in the car as he's unlocking the front door, and then he’s jolting in alarm as he sees Harry and Niall standing in his foyer, wearing party hats like a couple of serial killers.

“Ahh!” Louis screams, dropping his keys as Harry blows a noisemaker at him. He fetches them off the floor while Liam gamely pretends he didn't just jump in the air like an elephant that saw a mouse.

“Surpri-ise!” says Harry, very unnecessarily. “It's a band party!”

“Hey lads, sorry,” Niall says with a grin. “Didn't mean to scare you.”

“The key is for _emergencies_ , Niall!”

“This is an emergency,” Harry says, very gravely. “A band emergency.”

“That doesn't count,” Louis exclaims.

“What's with the party hats?” Liam says.

“Just to lighten the mood,” Niall says.

Harry blows his noisemaker again.

“Why’s the mood need lightened?” Louis says. “C’mon, let’s all go sit down.”

“Want me to put a kettle on?” Niall offers.

“Nah, I'll get it.”

He leads them all into the high-ceilinged sitting room, which he's turned into his man cave over the past few months. It's got several massive leather couches and a gargantuan TV mounted on the wall; the rest of the wallspace is covered in awards and framed photos. One of the photos is the four of them backstage after Sheffield; another is him, Zayn and the kids making a sandcastle on the beach.

“So,” Louis says, standing in the center of the room as they all obediently pile onto the couch in front of him. “What's up?”

Liam rubs at his beard and glances over at Niall and Harry.

“We wanted to talk maybe getting the band back band together,” Harry says. “But we've been worried you two wouldn’t be on board.”

“You’ve been _what_?” Louis exclaims, and settles back into a large leather armchair. “I never wanted to break up to begin with!”

Harry winces. “We didn't _break up..._ ”

“What’d we do, then?”

“Sorry, what's the problem?” he demands. “Did we not end our tour for you?”

“And did we not go on a break for _you_?” He adopts a low, sibilant voice. “ _Ohhh, I want to try acting, boooys, let me just try acting, I'll be right back, we’ll be touring again by twenty-eighteen!_ ”

“I never promised twenty-eighteen!"

"Yeah, you did, and after it went by, we quit talking about this!"

Liam and Niall look uneasily at each other.

"We all agreed we'd sort of just know when it was the right time!"

"You let us think it might never come!"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Us, or you?"

“Yeah, well, you shunned me after I married Zayn,” Louis shouts, “you hardly ever spoke to me --”

“Like you and Liam were talking all the time? Why am I being singled out?” Harry yells back.

“Because at any point if the three of us had said we wanted to get back together, we would’ve! You're the holdout and you know it!”

“Oh, _really_ ,” Harry says, his voice dripping with chilly incredulity. “When your husband --”

“-- my _ex-_ husband, thanks --”

“-- put out that song, and everyone in the world was speculating that you and Liam had an affair, and both your spouses were completely on edge over it, we were gonna get back together? You were gonna hang out on stage with Liam and pretend everything was just _peaches_ ,” (he punctuates this with sarcastic jazzhands) “and shoot water guns at each other?”

“Hey,” Niall says sharply, and takes off his party hat. “We didn't come here so you two could scream at each other. Do that on your own time.”

“He's not gonna come in my house, act like we're all buddy-buddy and blame me for the hiatus!” Louis hollers.

“I don't need to sit here and listen to your victim complex!”

“I've got a _victim_ complex? You fuckin’ egomaniac --”

“What is your problem, even? I’ve been plenty nice to you! I sent you flowers!”

“That _was_ nice of you!” Louis screams back at him. “I appreciated it!”

“You're bloody welcome!”

They glare hotly at each other, breathing heavily. Then Louis’ lips twitch, and Harry grins, and suddenly they're laughing.

Liam and Niall look between them in confused disbelief.

“What _was_ that?” Niall says, hitching up the sleeves of his henley.

“I dunno,” Harry admits.

Louis lets out a long exhale, looking down at his clasped hands.

“Look, the other thing is we're a bit worried about you two,” Harry says. “You've both sort of retreated from everything. You seem, like, sad and distracted.”

“We’ve both gotten divorced,” Louis says. “Which feels like getting shot in the chest, just so you know.”

Liam nods to corroborate.

“We're both coping. We’re both in therapy. We've got little kids to focus on, y’know? And lives to put back together. So, yeah, I'm not, like -- gonna be hanging out at the Teen Choice Awards. That's not high on my priority list right now.”

“I just don't know what One Direction is going to be, if we don't get going soon,” Harry says, spinning the ring on his index finger around. “We've all strayed from each other, musically. We're too old to be as goofy as we were. I mean, Louis is _thirty_.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“I'm just making a point. And like you said, you've both got little kids and things…” Harry runs a ring-laden hand through his hair. “Like, can we even do this, is what I'm wondering.”

“I've got something,” Niall says decisively. He stands up on the couch to manually turn the TV on, then drops into a cross-legged sit, scrolling through his phone. “Can I do AirPlay?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Louis says.

He fiddles around for a minute, and then they're watching the _Kiss You_ video.

“Oh, please no,” Louis exclaims.

“Wait, give it a minute,” Niall says, holding up a finger.

They all stare sort of miserably up at their younger selves. Zayn comes on screen, and Louis’ heart clenches.

“We were like little kids,” Liam says in wonder. “Look how blonde Niall is.”

“Look how thin Niall is,” Niall says with a wry grin.

They watch Zayn kiss Harry on the cheek, and Louis picks up the remote and very decisively turns the TV off. Harry glances away, his jaw tight.

“Alright,” Louis says, “so if the point of that was to reinforce everything Harold just said…”

“No,” Niall says. “That definitely wasn't it. Shit, why’s this so hard?”

He sounds sort of torn up about it, which breaks Louis’ heart. Liam reaches over and squeezes his shoulder.

“We’re just out of practice,” Louis says gently. “And we've been focused on different things for so long. Doesn't mean we can't do it. And, like… I sorta think you two came to rely on me and Liam to be mum and dad of the band, and, y’know. That's not been a focus of either of ours for a really long time now. We've got our own broken little families now, and our own careers, and the idea of us still shouldering all the tough shit about the band hasn't been appealing for a while now.” He shrugs. “I dunno how Liam feels, but…”

“About the same,” Liam says, nodding. “It was a huge amount of pressure. Especially the last half of twenty-fifteen, and I don't mean anything against you, Louis, ‘cos you were pregnant and sick and you needed to rest and get better. But the amount of spokesmanning and like, face of the band shit I had to do was insane. For months and months. And I…” He breaks off, then delicately says, “It was sort of already a rough time for me, around then. I don't mean to sound resentful. But I felt very alone.”

Louis looks guiltily away from him. Harry and Niall seem chastened.

“But you two are good at that shit,” Harry says. “Part of why I miss you, and like… teamwork. I'm not…” He seems to be struggling greatly with whatever he's trying to say. “I'm not a leader.”

“You don't need to be one,” Louis says. “You're good at everything. Leaders are meant to squeeze talent out of people like you.”

Liam nods. “That's true.”

“But it's made it sort of fucking hard,” Harry says. “This being on my own bit.”

“Good,” Niall says, gesturing like he's wafting steam. “I like this. Let’s get it all out there.”

“And we should say this more often, but thanks, Niall,” Louis says, smiling at him. “For keeping everybody together. And for being our sunshine boy no one’s ever mad at. I dunno what we'd do without you, honestly.”

Niall glances down, beaming in a sheepish way. “I try,” he mutters.

“And thanks for never having sex with any of us,” Liam adds.

Harry nods. “You're our Mick.”

They all consider this.

“Didn't Mick sleep with Stevie?” Niall says.

“Shit,” Harry says. “You're right. What was wrong with those people, honestly?”

“I dunno. I think I'm more of a Christine,” Niall muses.

“Nah,” Harry says, and points at Louis and Liam. “They're John and Christine. You're Mick.”

“No, no no,” Louis interrupts. “‘Cos I know you think you're Stevie, and Zayn’s Lindsey, and honestly, I take a bit of offense to that.”

“You can be Lindsey if you want, mate, who cares?”

“I don't want to be Lindsey! But you don't get to make Zayn your Lindsey!”

“Fine, he's not Lindsey!” Harry says, with a barely restrained eyeroll. 

Liam raises his hand. “Hi, lads, how necessary is this conversation?” he says.

“On a scale o’ one to ten, ‘bout a negative three,” Niall says.

“I think,” Harry says, “that we should all drink a lot together, tonight. And talk.”

“I'm down with that,” Louis says.

Liam nods. “Ceci’s got Sunday, so I'm in.”

“Yeaaah,” Niall cheers. “Sleepover.”

“One thing, in a couple minutes I have to do a face mask,” Harry says. “‘Cos I’ve been getting these stress spots on my jawline, and I've got Cannes in a week. Anyway, it's very stupid-looking, and I'm asking that no one makes fun of me.”

“I won't make fun of you,” Louis promises.

He grins. “I don't believe you.”

Louis winks at him and gets to his feet. “I’m gonna get us some alcohol, any requests?”

“I'll come with you,” Liam says, getting to his feet. “I wanna have a browse through your stores.”

 

*

 

They end up getting hammered pretty quickly, and curl up on the floor in blankets to watch all their videos in chronological order, heckling themselves.

“I haven't forgiven Ben for this one,” Louis says when _You And I_ comes on. “The worst.”

“Don't blame Ben!" Harry exclaims.

"I'll blame Ben all I like!"

"It's better than _Midnight Memories_ ,” Harry counters, sipping from his glass of white wine. He looks like a geisha with his face mask on.

“It is not. That is absolute libel. Anything is better than this.”

“Is there any other video where all of us managed to look like complete arse?” Liam says. “I think this is the only one.”

“Zayn looks fine,” Niall says churlishly.

“Ahh, you said Zayn, everyone drink,” Harry says.

They all dutifully take a sip.

“We’d have to tour Made in the AM,” he adds. “I just realized.”

“Ohh, yeah,” Niall says. “That should be a riot. Can't remember anything besides A.M. and Temporary Fix."

“He-ey,” Louis retorts.

“Yeah, we worked hard on that!” Liam adds. "The summertime and the butterflies!"

"Living in a world of pure imagination," Harry says, and Liam laughs.

“I'm a Four man," Niall says. "Like if I'm in the car, or whatever, and I wanna listen to us, it's usually Four."

“Know what I remember from the last one?” Harry starts laughing. “ _Come aaawn!”_

“No, see, I love that,” Louis says. “I'm dead serious, that song ought to be on the setlist every bloody night.”

“I'm gonna lose my voice,” Liam says, grinning.

“We can trade off on the come aaawns.”

He remembers, out of the blue, how when they started off recording that album, Zayn was still around -- he always did the come aaawns, when they first started rehearsing it. 

“Come aaawn!” Niall sings, in a passable falsetto.

“See?” Louis says.

 

*

 

Louis leaves everyone after a while and goes in the kitchen under the false pretense of putting a kettle on. Really, seeing his ex-husband's face over and over has made him miss him enough that he's got to hear his voice.

“Hey,” Zayn says after a few rings. “What's up, love?”

Louis swallows back his emotions. “Nothin’. Just checking on the kids.”

“They're fine… tired themselves out after dinner running all around the house. They're watching the news wiv me. Actually, Amir’s gone to sleep.”

Louis laughs.

“You okay? You sound funny.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I just miss you sometimes.”

Zayn's quiet for a moment. “Me too,” he says softly. “Yeah.”

“Miss the sound of your voice, and things. Just having you around.”

“I get the same way. ‘Specially when the kids aren't here.”

“Right, it's so weird to have the house to yourself…”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“But listen, I won't keep you,” Louis says. “Actually, the boys are over.”

“The boys? What, our boys?”

“Yeah, them.”

“Oh, alright.”

“Talking about maybe getting the band back together.”

“Hey, that's great,” Zayn says genuinely. “I know you really wanted that.”

“Thanks, yeah, I did.” He bites at his lip. “Anyway. I'll let you go. Tell the kids I said love you.”

“Will do. G’night.”

“Night.”

Louis sets the phone down. Liam has appeared in the doorway, leaning on it, cast in shadow.

“Hey there,” he says.

“Hey,” Louis says.

 

*

 

In the sitting room, Niall and Harry go dead silent trying to overhear Liam and Louis talking.

Harry pulls his blanket tighter up over his shoulders and squints. “I can't hear anything,” he says, in a drunken stage whisper.

Niall shushes him, then realizes he can't hear anything either. “Are they whispering?”

“Maybe.”

They exchange glances.

“Hey, are they sleeping together?” says Harry.

“Noo, no,” Niall says. “No, one of ‘em would've told me.”

“I think they _want_ to be sleeping together, but they're holding back. That's the vibe I'm getting.”

“Yeah, agreed,” Niall says, nodding. He takes another swig of his beer. “Hey, I'm all for it. I think they ought t’ be together.”

“Is Liam ready for that, though? Ceci took a cheese grater to him, he's like a war veteran.”

“Louis isn’t exactly Mr Sunshine, these days,” Niall points out.

“Right, ‘sactly, it’s two damaged people who’re still healing.” Harry collapses onto a pile of pillows on the floor. “Or,” he says, “are we judging them too harshly, ‘cos we’re both afraid of love, and we've been sacrificing long-term commitment for the sake of our careers, anyway?”

“That's too deep for when I'm drunk on a Tuesday,” Niall says. “Can't do it. Can't follow you down that road.”

Harry tips his head over and gazes at him. “D’you get lonely lately, though?”

“All the time,” Niall admits.

They clink their beers together.

 

 

*

 

“I just feel like the timing’s bad,” Louis mutters, swishing around what's left in his glass of wine. “But when’s it ever gonna be good, y’know? We lost our momentum.”

“It's gonna look different,” Liam says, shifting on the stool next to him and setting his empty whiskey tumbler down on the marble island. “It's not gonna be what it was before. Which is good in a lot of ways.”

“I worry about disappointing the fans. I don't wanna let ‘em down.”

“I think they just want to see us together again, honestly. Whatever that means.”

Louis nods at him, then indicates his glass. “Top you off?”

Liam grins. “Nah, I've had plenty, but thanks.” He leans an elbow on the island. “You want to, though, don't you? Get back together?”

“‘Course I do. Just playing hard to get a bit. Can't jump as soon as you all come crawling back to me, it'd look pathetic.”

“You all? Hey, I didn't know anything about this either.”

Louis grins at him. “That's right. They snuck up on both of us.”

“Yeah, us sad losers.”

“God, I know! What _was_ that?” Louis imitates Harry’s voice. “Uhh, we’re just worried abooout youuu… ‘cos you seem so _saaaad…_ Imagine how bad they'd freak out if we said we were worried about them ‘cos they were still bachelors?”

Liam lets out a wheezy chuckle. “I swear,” he says “for a while there Niall was convinced I was gonna off myself or something. He’d just text me at random hours of the day, like, Alright lad? Very sweet of him, did make me feel a bit pathetic.”

“Sorry again,” Louis murmurs, and polishes off his wine. “For not checking in with you. I dunno.”

“How many times are we gonna apologize to each other about this?”

“Uh, about seventy million.”

They both laugh.

“I feel better now, in a lot of ways, honestly,” Liam says. “It's not all bad. Y’know? I didn't really know how to be alone before. I thought I needed someone to complete me, I thought I wasn't a whole person. I know different now.”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs. “I know exactly what you mean. It's nice having kids, for that reason. You’ve got to be tough for them.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, nodding. “Definitely. My kid’s my road dog, she's my rock.”

“‘Sactly. I’d have been a mess with all this, if I didn't have them waking me up in the morning and shit. Forcing me to be a person, y'know.”

They hear a sound in the doorway and look up. Niall and Harry are drunkenly shuffling in, trying and failing to be discreet. Harry's wearing a blanket like a shawl.

“Never mind us,” Niall chirps. “Just want some water.”

“You're alright,” Louis says. “We’re just talking.”

Harry bends over the sink and starts rinsing off his face mask. “D’you have any crudités?” he says to Louis.

“I've got baby carrots in the crisper.”

“Sick,” Harry says appreciatively. He dabs at his face with a kitchen towel, then goes over to the fridge and pulls out the entire bag, starting to eat them like they're crisps while Niall steadily downs an entire glass of water.

Liam leans down and rests his forehead against Louis’ bicep. Louis freezes up. His cheeks flush, and his skin prickles with heat where Liam's touching him.

“I'm sleepy,” Liam murmurs. “Wine finally got to me.”

“Everyone drink water,” Niall says zealously. “I don't want no hangovers, you hear?”

“Niall’s the Saving Private Ryan of hangovers,” Louis says, smiling at him.

“Nobody gets left behind today,” Niall intones, emptying the Brita pitcher into two empty glasses on the counter.

Louis watches him hand out water, then says rather mushily, “I do love you lot, you know?”

“We love you too, Louis,” Niall says, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Sorry we argued,” Harry says, then adds cheekily: “Again.”

“Reckon that was my fault, lad.”

Harry shrugs. “We went about this sort of dotty. We just didn't know how to bring it up to you. And, yeah, yeah, yeah... the break was my idea, I get it.”

“It's fine,” Liam says, his breath hot on Louis’ arm. “It had to get brought up somehow.” He pauses. “Did scare the shit out of us, though.”

Harry laughs. “Next time we’ll just arrange a lunch meeting like normal.”

“Hey, you got any champers, Tommo?” Niall says.

“Nah,” Louis says. “Just wine and liquor.”

“Maybe let’s call it a night on drinking,” Liam says.

His lips so close to Louis’ skin is driving Louis crazy. He's warm in his face, gut and cock from the wine -- and Liam’s been so kind and understanding, he's so mature now. He's really become a man, all straight in the back and hollow in the cheeks, serious in the eyes. And he just _gets_ it, he gets it all. Louis’ awareness of how vulnerable they both are to this exact thing is the only force that stops him from climbing atop Liam like a spider monkey.

He's been dreaming about him lately, too, sometimes tender dreams where they're touching hands, or something -- those are the ones that make him wake up smiling. And sometimes he has dreams where they have sex, and those are even better, because he remembers what sex with Liam is like, exactly how his cock felt, the slick thickness of it. He wakes up from those hard and aching to be fucked.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I'm pretty faced. You all wanna watch a movie?”

“Yess,” Liam says, lifting his head. “Something funny.”

 

*

 

Niall and Liam fall asleep on the couch halfway through the second film they watch, draped over each other like a couple of puppies. Niall’s snoring a bit.

Louis’ eyelids are hot and heavy, and he's got a pillow under his head, but he's not quite ready to go to sleep. He glances at Harry, who's curled up in the corner of the sectional, his face aglow as he checks his phone in the darkness.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Harry glances up. “Hey,” he says, and puts his phone down.

Louis fumbles for a second line. “So... how've you been?”

They talk for a while, whispering to not wake the others, and with the typical halting politeness of ex-best friends catching up.

Finally Harry says sort of hesitantly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Louis whispers.

Harry picks at a seam on the couch, his large eyes catlike in the dark.

“How hard is it to have a baby?” he finally says.

“What d’you mean?”

“Like, how hard is it on you? I'm asking ‘cos I know you'll give me the truth.”

“Wait, are you pregnant?” Louis whispers. “No, what’m I saying, you just had a whole bottle of wine.”

Harry grins. “Not pregnant,” he says softly. “Thinking about maybe going it alone, in the next few years. If I haven't met, y'know, the One. I'd like to adopt, but I'd really like to have one myself, too. I just want to know how hard it'd be to do on my own.”

“Oh, Haz.”

He shrugs. “I dunno if I trust anyone I've dated to be an ideal life partner, is all. I'm just so picky and particular.”

“You know ideal doesn't really exist.”

“As close to ideal as reality gets, then.”

Louis thinks about it for a while. “It's really hard,” he says. “It wrecks your body. You're tired all the time. Your abs are never gonna be the same, even if you don't get a C-section. It's messy. It's really nice to have somebody to take care of you, ‘specially at the end.”

Harry nods. “What's labor actually like?”

He shrugs. “Awful. Really painful. Gross. And newborns are a nightmare. I can't imagine doing it alone. When I thought I wasn't gonna get back together with Zayn, I used to have nightmares about bein’ a single dad. I’m not saying you couldn't do it, I just don't want you getting the wrong idea.”

“Is it nice, though?” Harry says hopefully. “Like, creating a life… you didn't enjoy it at all? It wasn't like, profound?”

Louis exhales. “It's complicated. It's nice, in some ways. It is. I liked having a baby in, I liked how I was never alone. It was sort of calming. ‘Specially when you can feel them moving, and then it feels real. And it's nice to get all the attention and fuss, I won't lie. Dunno about profound. There's something incredible about bringing a new person into the world, meeting them for the first time…” He looks off into the darkness, thinking. “Did you know I had Mia in the car?”

He nods. “Niall told me. I remember thinking that was very… you.”

“Oh, cheers!”

“I mean that in a nice way!”

Louis laughs. “Alright. Well, it sounds awful, and it was, it was really painful and embarrassing, but… it was also really nice. I mean --” He breaks off and hesitates. “Mostly ‘cos -- ‘cos Zayn was helping me through it. But it felt really… Just, like, that moment, when it was just the three of us, and I met her for the first time. And she was so bloody, and screaming, and I'm lying there with me trousers around me ankles bleeding like I've been shot -- but I _made_ her, y’know? She was mine. I made her. I’ve never felt anything like that, ‘cept for when I held my kids for the first time. Like, I made their bones with my bones. It's insane. It's… making music is great, really fulfilling, but when you're talking pure gut punches, it just doesn't compare. Maybe you're right. Maybe profound is the word.”

Harry nods slowly, hugging his knees to his chest under the blanket. “I want that,” he whispers. “I want to feel that, so much. I just want a baby…”

“You're only twenty-seven, mate. No rush.”

“I know.” He smiles wryly. “I think my biological clock’s going off a bit. Feeling the cobwebs....” He gestures at his middle.

Louis stifles a cackle so he doesn't wake anyone up. “ _Cobwebs_?”

“I just, like… I put my blood, sweat and tears into my art, y’know? Every day. And every day all these people are touching me, and talking in my ear, and asking me questions. And then you make something, and everyone devours you, and grabs pieces of it for themselves. And I mean, I like that, we all do. But…” He goes quiet, squinting in the dark, searching for words. “It’d be nice to do something that's one hundred percent just for me. Not even tell anyone who the dad or the mum is. Especially since everyone… you know, they still don't know I even can. And I’ve been fine with that. It's been very helpful to my career, to not get slotted as an omega.”

“I'm sure,” Louis says, more sourly than he means to.

Harry glances up. “I'm sorry,” he mutters. “I know you got fucked over, with that… I was only sixteen, I didn't know how it would all unfold. And everyone pegged you as one right away… it was just easier to let you take that heat for both of us, to let everyone think you were the only one in the band. But it wasn't fair to you. I know it wasn't. And I didn't appreciate it enough, back then.”

Louis flaps his hand. “It's ancient history, mate. I wanted to protect you, anyway. You were really young. I didn't mind falling on that sword.”

Harry nods. “Well, thanks.”

“Um, look… The thing is, a baby is a whole new life,” he continues. “It's a whole new person, it's the opposite of what you want. You're thinking about it in terms of what it's going to do for _your_ life. Like everyone would say, Oh, he's pregnant, how marvelous, let’s leave him be! In reality you're exhausted, you're puking all the time, and no one ever stops bothering you. The world wouldn't stop turning ‘cos Harry Styles is having a baby. It's the opposite, they'd rip you apart. They'd all want to know everything, and they'd feel totally entitled to it. You know, both times I was pregnant, when I ran into fans some of em’d just start touching my stomach?”

Harry looks appalled. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. They didn't think anythin’ of it. And then you have the baby, and it's an entire person who’s nothin’ but entitled to you. Who needs you every second of their life. You'd never be alone again. Is that really what you want?”

Harry shrugs. “I can't say. I can't conceptualize that.”

“It's so much more mundane than you think, too,” Louis says. “It's boring, it really is. It's not all cute Instagrams and dressing them up in baby Gucci. I'm bored to tears sometimes, just like, lying on the floor playing Candyland with them for the fifth time in a day. It's lying there in bed, and you've all got the flu, and your shirt’s got their puke and your snot all over it. It's shit like that. The glamour is non-existent. And, obviously, that's the shit that would stay the same whether you get pregnant or adopt.”

Harry's quiet for a while, then says a bit reproachfully, “I don't need everything in my life to be glamourous.”

“Maybe not, but.”

“You don't think I'm ready,” he murmurs, glancing over at Louis.

“I don't, no. And that's not me slagging you off. Most people aren't, lad. I definitely wasn't, ‘specially as young as I was, but both my kids were oopsies, and I don't exactly see something like that happening to you.”

Harry laughs. “Alright,” he says. “I trust you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I value an expert opinion. You've put in your ten thousand hours, you're an expert.”

“Good,” Louis says with a pleased smile. “Look, don't give up on finding a partner for this, alright? I never saw myself marrying Zayn, and obviously it didn't work out in the end, but ‘e's a good co-parent, and we had it good for a while. I don't regret it.”

Harry nods, looking pensive.

“You've sort of got to let some things just happen the way they're going to, y’know? You can't plan every moment. It ain't a tour or an album. It's your life.”

“I know you're right,” he murmurs. “I just really want a baby. I have for ages. I sort of wish I could just do it like you did.”

“What, find out you're knocked up by your ex-boyfriend?”

Harry laughs. “No, but just sort of happen into it. Otherwise I'm afraid I'll stay frozen and in my head about it, and it'll never happen.”

“It'll happen, mate. If you want it to happen, it'll happen.”

They sit there in quiet for a minute.

“Hey,” Louis says, “y’know, we can talk about shit other than, like, having babies. If you want.”

Harry shrugs. “Like what?”

“I dunno.” He sneaks a glance at him, his body suddenly thrumming with nerves. “I just hate the idea that this is the only thing we’ve got in common, after a decade.”

Harry’s brow creases like he’s thinking. “Um… you wanna do some coke with me?”

Louis laughs. “Sorry?”

“I’m quitting,” he says, like that’s an explanation. “I’ve got about a gram left from Glastonbury that I’m trying to use up…”

Louis considers this. On one hand, it would be immature and stupid, but on the other hand, fuck it. “Yeah, alright.”

He waits on the porch in his sock feet while Harry gets the coke out of his car, and watches him waltz back up the driveway in the darkness, his boots clacking on the gravel. They sneak back in through the sitting room to the kitchen, pausing to have a silent laugh about how Liam and Niall are huddled up against each other, both snoring.

Louis shines his phone flashlight on the marble island so Harry can use his credit card to nimbly arrange the coke in lines; he sorts them in two in front of Louis, then four in front of himself.

“Hey,” Louis complains.

“When’s the last time you did coke?” Harry says.

“March twenty-fifteen.” He remembers vividly, because when he found out he was pregnant with Mia, he had to do a bunch of frantic mental math to make sure he hadn’t completely fucked her up. The cigarettes and alcohol from before he knew weighed heavily enough on his conscience, even though his mum and Joan kept reassuring him.

“Yeah, two’s plenty. Don’t want you having a heart attack on me.”

Harry picks his wallet up off the counter, slips out a crisp hundred and rolls it up. Louis watches him, flashlight trained on his hands, watching the loving exactness of Harry’s movements as he snorts the first line. He tips his head back, sniffing more deeply and exhaling a soft breath from his mouth.

He does this three more times, lingering on the last one. He rolls the bill back in forth and his fingers, looking pensive, then hands it to Louis.

Louis snorts one line, fumbling a bit. He lifts his head and blinks hard. Euphoria is already blossoming in his head. “Jesus Christ,” he says.

Harry grins at him. “Maybe don’t do the second one.”

Louis wriggles his numb nose. “How pure is that?”

“That’s a hundred percent cocaine, man.”

“ _What?”_

“What?” Harry says, defensively. “I’m supposed to snort baking soda?”

“One is good for me, then,” Louis says, setting the bill down. He’s already trembly. “Yeah. Fuck.”

“So, what d’you wanna do?” Harry leans his hip against the counter. His pupils are massive, like a cat that’s about to pounce. “I wanna _do_ something.”

Louis sniffs. “I wanna smash something.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“D’you think Niall’s got golf stuff in his car?”

“Safe bet. Why?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

 

*

 

Harry hovers while Louis carefully sneaks Niall’s keys out of his arse pocket, pausing with coked-up paranoia every time Niall’s snores taper off. But he manages to get them out without waking him or Liam, and they scamper off together, giggling like idiots.

They crack open the trunk of Niall’s Escalade to find the jackpot; a golf bag full of clubs. Louis snatches the driver and a tee, and carries them into the house. Harry follows along behind him -- in Louis’ sharpened peripheral vision, he looms over him in the darkness like a tree.

Back in the kitchen, Louis grabs a Tupperware full of hard boiled eggs out of the refrigerator. Harry watches him do this with mute fascination, then says, “Why d’you have so many eggs?”

“The kids are on an egg salad kick,” Louis whispers.

“Ew,” Harry says. “Egg salad? Why?”

“I dunno, I blame Zayn.”

Harry squints. “Does he like egg salad?”

“No, but whenever they do something I don’t like, I blame Zayn.”

Harry has a good chuckle at this. Louis stands there, holding the eggs and grinding his teeth. “I really want a cigarette,” he mutters, “but I quit, an’ I’ve been sticking with it.”

“That’s good,” Harry intones, as he bends over the island to do the line of coke that Louis had abandoned. “‘Cos smoking is _terrible_ for you.”

Louis laughs. Harry tosses his head back, sniffing while he holds one nostril closed, then he starts to laugh, too. They stand there cackling in the dark kitchen.

 

*

In the backyard, Louis situates himself on a grassy knoll overlooking the west side of the tall privacy fence that wends its way along their property. He inserts the tee into the soft lawn, then tees up one of the eggs. The smooth white surface of it glows in the light from the full moon.

“Oh!” Harry says, leaning over and squinting, his hands on his thighs. “Honestly, I had no idea where you were going with this.”

“I’ve just realized I’m about to egg my own fence,” Louis says, “but -- whatever.”

He tees off. The egg sails through the air and hits the fence with a satisfying crunchy _whap_.

He looks at Harry, who grins. “That looks fun.”

Louis hands him the driver.

Slowly, they make their way through the Tupperware, trading off with each one. There’s something therapeutically methodical about it, especially when the eggs break apart as soon as they're struck, sending shells everywhere like shrapnel. Louis’ antsiness mellows into a steady dopamine rush. The night air feels really good on his skin.

The last egg goes to Harry, who pantomimes taking ages to line up his swing while Louis sits in the grass, laughing.

“He’s got to hit this right and true,” Harry says, badly imitating the BBC golf commentators. “Can’t afford an extra stroke.”

“He’s forty over par, it’s not looking good for young Styles.”

Harry laughs and smacks the egg. It flies over Louis’ fence and into his neighbor’s yard.

“Oh, and he’s hit it into the crowd,” Louis continues. “Blood everywhere, people screaming.”

Harry turns, resting the driver on his shoulder. “Shanked it,” he says. “You know, Jim, sometimes you have a bad day, kill a fan or two, but it all comes out in the wash…”

“A man appears to have lost an eye, he’s looking for it in the grass, now.”

Harry settles down next to him, laughing, then lies back to look up at the sky. His eyes are large and limpid in the moonlight, and his hair’s long again, down to his shoulders.

“Why d’you want to quit coke?” Louis says curiously.

“Oh,” he sighs, his chest falling. “I dunno. I enjoy it too much? I get sort of romantic about it… it’s never been an _addiction_. I stop for ages at a time, and then I pick it back up. Like, it makes me incredibly self-absorbed, and ruminative, which is nice when I need to write, but then I get into, like, using it days in a row, and that’s never good. I really don’t need it to do what I do, it just makes it so much easier. It’s too strong a temptation for me to have it in my life."

Louis nods slowly. “I get it.”

“This feels familiar,” Harry says, his brow drawn up quizzically. “Why do I feel like we already had this conversation? This is so weird.”

“We definitely haven’t, mate.”

“No, I know…”

A moment goes by, and then Harry inhales softly, like he thought of something.

Louis eyes him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t make a noise and then say ‘nothing’.”

“It’s nothing!”

“Harold.”

Harry tilts his head to look up at him. “It’s not -- it’s awkward, is all.”

“Tell me.” Louis nudges him with a foot. His jaw is starting to feel all tight and weird; he rubs at it with his fingers.

“I -- okay, fine.” Harry sighs, then closes his eyes. “It just reminds me of when we were kids. When I decided to break up with Zayn, and you and I stayed up all night talking about it on the bus.”

“Oh,” Louis says, and he’s so numb right now, he actually smiles at this. “That’s not awkward.”

Harry gives him a wry look.

“No, I mean it. It’s… y’know. Very far in the past.”

“I know _..._ ”

They’re quiet for a minute. Harry hesitates, then: “Is he okay? Zayn?”

Louis shrugs and nods. “Doing loads better, now. Yeah.”

“Good.”

“I know he was in bad shape, last you saw him.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs. “Hey, I’m really sorry about what happened that night.”

“Why? You didn’t do it.”

“I brought Xander to the poker match.”

“So? Look… he wanted out of his life. He did the one thing he knew for sure would blow it up. He pulled the ejection handle.” Louis pauses, unsure of why he’s being so confessional to Harry. Stupid cocaine. “And he would’ve done it with anybody. _That’s_ why I left, not just ‘cos he did it.”

“Because he wanted out?”

“Yeah.”

“That seems crazy,” Harry says, tipping his head over again. “That he did, I mean. He seemed so in love with you.”

“Aye, he loved me,” Louis says. “Loves me. But being married to me was too much. And I get it. The best thing I could do for him, and for me, was to let him go. And I did. Y’know, I reckon that in the end, we were just too similar. So.”

Harry’s eyes search his face. A long moment of quiet draws out between them like an unbroken string. Finally, he says, “I can’t imagine.”

“No,” Louis says, aching under the numbness, now. “You can’t. It’s alright.”

The quiet returns.

“I know you loved him,” Louis says. “However you feel about him now. And I know I used to be your best mate, however you feel about me now. And I’m…” He swallows. “I'm sorry I slept with him, knowing it would hurt you. I never really told you sorry for that. Or if I did, I didn’t mean it. But I do know.”

Harry chuckles. “It’s alright. I forgave you a long time ago.”

“That’s big of you.”

“Well, I was never really angry at you,” he murmurs, then reconsiders this. “Okay, I was. At first. It just felt like this giant fuck you, right in my face. But after that, it was him I was angry at. You, I felt hurt by. But him, I wanted to yell at… Only I never got the chance. You know? You’re the only one of us who got to have it out with him. You’re the only one he loved enough to try for.”

“So much for trying,” Louis says drily.

“Oh, Louis,” Harry says, sounding very forty all of a sudden. “You’re both famous, you had a ton of public drama, you had two unplanned kids really fast, and he’s an alcoholic… the odds weren’t exactly on your side, you know?”

Louis snorts. “Weirdly, when you're married to somebody you don't really think in terms of statistics. Why don't you throw the fact that we’re both high school dropouts in there? Bet that knocks us down a bit further in the averages.”

“I’m sorry, that came out shitty,” Harry says, looking apologetic. “I just meant I'm sure you both tried.”

He waves a hand. “It’s fine. I’m aware I'm not the king of family planning.”

“I swear I'm not being judgmental,” Harry assures him in his low drawl. “I think it's lovely that you’ve got a family, two beautiful kids… I'm honestly jealous of it.”

He trails off. The subtext, of course, is that they're _Zayn’s_ kids, specifically. Louis doubts Harry would be sitting here professing his jealousy if they weren't. 

“Anyway,” he continues, “I already went on and on about my baby fever. But, you know. I got caught up in things, after the band… and it's been wonderful, but it's been really, ah… Just lonely, at times. And it's sort of gotten worse, lately.”

“Oh,” Louis says, smiling. “So that's why you came back for us, then, innit?”

Harry’s brow knits. “Why?”

“You want family.”

He considers this and nods, smiling back. “Yeah. Reckon I do.”

“Well, like I said,” Louis says. “It's not all sunshine. I sorta lost my identity for a while. Zayn started struggling after our son was born, and I felt like I spent years on end just having babies, taking care of babies, and taking care of my husband. I mean, you're a household name, you've had an incredible career so far, and you're not even close to being done yet.”

Harry smiles at him. “The grass is greener, right?”

“Right,” Louis says, laughing. “Sure. Allegedly.”

“Hey, in twenty years you'll have two grown kids who adore you, and I'll be this sad, bald old fucker who's only got my fans…”

“Please! Look, you want to have a baby? Have a baby!"

"Oh, and just where am I supposed to get a baby, Louis?" Harry exclaims with high drama, gesturing wildly. "The baby store?"

"Ring up one of the fifty people you've fucked around with, who’re all probably still madly in love with you, and tell them to come over tomorrow and sperminate you, alright?”

Harry makes a choking sound. “ _Sperminate_ me?”

“Why don't you call Grimshaw? I'm sure he'd be happy to take care of that for you.”

“Please!”

“I'm just saying, getting pregnant ain't the hard bit. It's everything after. And you _know_ that, that's why you haven't done it.”

“I do,” he says piteously. “But think about my cobwebs, Louis…”

“I'm truly so sorry about your cobwebs.”

"Mick Jagger has eight kids!"

"What's with you and Mick Jagger?"

He writhes theatrically on the ground, throwing his wrist over his eyes like an ailing Victorian damsel. “My womb’s so empty, I’m in pain. And you don't even care.”

“You should get that checked out by a doctor,” Louis says, and Harry laughs. “Wanna go in, try to get some sleep?”

“Oh, God, yeah. I've got so many meetings tomorrow.”

They stagger to their feet. Louis finds he's still a bit jittery from the coke; his teeth chatter in the cool air as he follows Harry across the yard to the back patio.

 

*

 

Louis wakes before everyone else. He lies there a while, listening to them breathing, listening to the birds chirping outside. Then he gets up and puts a kettle on, fixes everyone a cup the way they like it and comes back into the sitting room, setting the mugs on the floor so the smell will waft up to their sleeping, hungover faces. Niall is sleeping sitting up, chin resting on his folded arms and drooling, and Liam is lying down with his sock feet across Niall’s lap. Harry somehow managed to fall asleep looking perfect, his head resting lightly on a pillow like he's in a Botticelli painting.

Liam is first one to wake, right as Louis is about to set his mug down. He blinks and sits up, stretching. He's cute, first thing in the morning -- puppyish.

“Hi,” Louis whispers.

“Tea?” Liam murmurs in his low, just-woken voice. “Ahh, you're an angel.”

Louis hands it to him, trying not to let his goofy, smitten glee show on his face. “You, ah -- I'm -- yeah,” he says lamely.

Liam laughs. “You good, Tommo?”

“Just hungover.”

They keep smiling at each other. Liam's eyes are very warm.

Niall stirs, then, and jerks his head up. “Hey,” he says drowsily, and blinks hard.

“Hey there,” Louis says.

“I had a dream you were evil,” he says, pointing at Louis, “and I had t’ stop you killin’ the Prime Minister, but you escaped in a hot air balloon.”

He grins. “Ain’t that just like me?”

Liam laughs again and sips his tea.

Behind them, they hear the sound of a text notification go off about fifty times in a row -- they turn and see Harry sitting up, rubbing his eyes and looking at his phone.

“Sorry,” he says. “Whenever I turn it off overnight, ‘s’like, bedlam in the morning. Actually, I ought to get going…”

“Aww, no breakfast?” Liam says.

“Feel free to do brekkie without me,” Harry says. “I’m already cutting it close, though, I’ve got to pop back to the hotel and change before my noon meeting.”

“When are we all gonna talk?” Niall says. “Like, real talk about how to get the band going again. Lot of paperwork we've got t’ get goin’ on, lot of shit to work out.”

“Soon,” Harry says.

Louis cuts his eyes at him.

“ _Very_ soon. Look, I'm on board, I promise.” He punctuates this with a wink.

“I know,” Louis says, and smiles. “I know.”

Harry gets to his feet, yawning and stretching. He somehow manages to look fashionable and dashing in last night’s clothes, which is infuriating. The tail end of his yawn echoes off the vaulted ceiling. On the TV behind him, Netflix is asking, _Are you still watching?_

 

*

 

They see Harry off, waving at him from the front steps as he walks the length of the long driveway down to his waiting Bentley, and then Liam volunteers with his typical alacrity to fix them some pancakes for breakfast. Louis and Niall sit at the island like little kids, butter knives clutched in their hands, squinting against the sunshine coming in the window and making faces on their plates with the butter and syrup while they wait.

“Hey Neil,” Louis says, and transfers a melting, syrup-sodden butter pat to Niall’s plate with his fork.

Niall quickly passes it back. “Yeah Tommo.”

“Just wondering, you sure you want to start up the band again?” He glances over, looking Niall in his sweet sunny face. “‘Cos you're doing _quite_ well without us, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, coming over to them with a pan in his hand and delivering one perfect pancake onto each of their plates. “I've been thinking that, myself.”

“Yeah!” Niall exclaims, cutting a piece off of his. “‘Course! What kind of nonsense question? I miss my boys! I've been trying to finagle this for years, ya goofs!”

“Alright, good,” Louis says. “Hey Liam, how'd you get these so round?”

Liam squints at him. “You squeeze the batter in a circle.”

“But they're like, _perfectly_ round.”

Liam looks confused. “Well, yeah?”

“They're brilliant,” Niall says, with his mouth full. “Very fluffy. Payno, you're like our mama bird.”

Liam grins, his eyes crinkling. “Noo, if I was your mama bird I'd be throwing them up into your mouth.”

“Well, the morning’s young, still,” Louis says, sipping his tea.

 

*

 

Niall’s the last to leave; he's parked down the road, and they stand chatting at the gate for ages, basking in the sunshine as it falls across them, dappled by the trees that line the drive.

Finally, Niall glances at his watch and realizes he has to get going. He gives Louis a quick hug, then lifts his sunglasses up and studies him. “Hey,” he says. “You an’ Payno.”

Louis tries to look duly composed. “Hmm?”

Niall beams at him, eyes twinkling, his tanned and handsome face alight with ribaldry. “Anythin’ going on there?”

“Noo,” Louis demurs, even as his pulse quickens. “Just getting to be friends again.”

“Mmm,” Niall says. “Sure, sure.”

“I mean it.”

“I see the way you look at each other.”

Louis sighs. “Yeah, alright, I want to. I think he wants to, too. I'm just skittish.”

Niall flaps his hand. “You care about him, he cares about you, what's the problem? You realize how long you both pined over each other after you broke things off?”

Louis scoffs. “Oh, Niall, come on… we were together for a couple of weeks six years ago, I mean, Christ. We both fell in love with other people, made lives, had families.”

“Yeah,” Niall says, “all that, after you only got a few weeks together, and you still never forgot each other. If anythin’, you're provin’ me point.”

“Here's another thing, me dating Liam would wreck Zayn, and you know it.”

“He cheated, he doesn't get to be wrecked over this.”

“There's no ‘get to’. People feel what they feel.”

“You can't deny yourself happiness ‘cos o’ that, though.”

Louis wraps his arms around himself. “I'm scared, too,” he admits.

“Of what?”

“I don't want to fuck things up again, with him. I mean, we’re trying to get the band back together…” he shrugs. “It's so dangerous.”

“But he'd never hurt you, Tommo,” Niall says. “The boy adores you, alright? He thinks the sun shines out of your arse. And I know you'd never hurt him, either.”

“I already have,” he says, with a wan smile.

“Oh, come on…”

“I don't think I deserve how much Liam loves me,” he admits.

Niall lets out a sigh and flicks him in the forehead.

“Ouch!” Louis exclaims in offense, flicking him back.

“I'm gonna do that every time you're down on yourself!”

“That seems counterproductive!”

“Well, tough!”

“It's more complicated than that, anyway,” Louis says. “What if we aren't really compatible as a couple, and we’ve got no idea? And we stuff it up for real this time, and then it's terrible and awkward and we can't be bandmates, or even friends? We _just_ got our friendship back. And I'd love to get our professional partnership back, too.”

“Do what you feel’s best, lad,” Niall says. “But life’s short, and you seem happy for the first time in a while, since you've been hanging out with him again. Carefree, like.”

Louis looks guiltily up at him. “I am. I missed him.”

“D’you have feelings for him?”

“Yeah… Yeah.”

“Well, he never stopped having feelings for you,” Niall says, growing serious.

“Shouldn't I be learning to be alone?” he says, in a little voice. “Shouldn't I be dating around like Zayn is? Taking my time? Me and Liam, we’re serious people. And it'd be serious between us. It always was. Besides, I'm still a bit hung up on Zayn... And that's whatever, ‘cos I reckon I always sort of will be, but --"

Niall's brow creases. "You don't think you two might get back together, do you?"

Louis hesitates briefly. "No. I don't think there's any chance of that happening."

"Well --"

"But, like, what about Liam? Is he even ready to date again? _Has_ he been? Maybe he's seeing someone and he's keeping it secret to be polite. I've got no idea.”

Niall nods slowly as he digests all this. “Alright, that's all fair,” he says, “and I can't answer it for you. All’s I know is, you make each other happy, and you've both been knocked down hard. You need a bit o’ happy. So take that for whatever it's worth.”

“Hey, are _you_ happy?” Louis says, thinking of Ellie.

Niall blinks at him. “What's that got to do with anythin’? Shit,” he says, peeking at his watch again, “I really, really have t’ go, lad.”

“Go, go!” Louis presses the button to open the gate and ushers him out and up the sidewalk. “Get on with it. I'll text you later.”

Niall climbs into his Lambo, then leans across the seats, pushes the passenger side door open and peeks his head out, shouting, “Oi! You're allowed to be happy!”

“Get going, you nutter!” Louis shouts back at him.

“He's not seein’ anyone! He would've told me!”

“ _Go_!”

 

BEVERLY HILLS, MAY 15, 2021

The hilltop field that Mia’s football game is on is situated so it's normally flooded with golden Californian sunlight, but today is gray and overcast, almost creepy, with dark clouds gathering at the horizon.

Louis paces the sideline and smokes as he waits for Zayn. He's been so good about not smoking these days, but he's feeling a bit stressed about album sales, and the Liam thing, and the band thing, and had randomly found a loose cigarette in his car this morning.

Plus, he brought the orange slices, today, and one of the mums came up to talk as he was handing them out. She hadn't seen him since the divorce, so he had to explain -- and then she asked where Zayn was, and he said, “He's on his way,” and she gave him this knowing look that really bugged the shit out of him. This is one of his least favorite things about the divorce, is people assume they just _know_ everything that went down.

The referee blows the whistle for a water break, and kids pour off the field in both directions. Mia breaks away from her little pals and crosses through the dewy grass to Louis. He kneels to greet her, and instead of saying hello, she rips his cigarette out of his hands, flings it down and stomps on it.

“Mims!” he cries.

“No smoking!” she hollers at him, and then dashes off to rejoin her team.

Louis sighs and reaches in his arse pocket, rooting around for his nicotine gum. “Jesus Christ.”

He hears someone behind him, then feels a hand at his lower back, and he turns to see Zayn, who’s looking sleepy and a bit scruffy.

“Hey,” Louis says in relief. “What kept you?”

“Meeting ran long, sorry bro,” Zayn says, patting him and leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much. They're down two goals, but Mia’s playing good D.”

“Good. I brought chairs if you want to sit down….”

Louis nods, and Zayn leads him back to two folding chairs with cupholders, a few feet away from the bleachers.

When they've sat down, Zayn glances over at him. “What’re you pacing about?”

“Nothing,” Louis murmurs, watching as Mia gets into a huddle with her team.

They do a chant, then scatter onto the field. Next to them on the bleachers, one of the dads starts shouting at his kid -- “Julia! Hustle! Hustle!”

Zayn rolls his eyes and snorts. Louis lets out a soft laugh.

“Don't be mean,” he says.

“Tommo, these kids are five years old.”

“These might be the next Mia Hamms, right here.”

“These parents make arses of themselves at every game...”

Louis glances over at him. In the thin gray light of this shitty day, his tiredness is more pronounced. “What's up?”

Zayn shrugs and returns his look. “Not much. Just talked through the new album a lot. Sort of draining.”

“When's it coming out?”

“Next year at the earliest.”

“Right.” Louis hesitates. “Is it about me?”

Zayn laughs, then buries his hands in his jacket pockets, looking down, his upswept fringe falling across his eyes. “Not everythin’s about you, love.”

“Well, _my_ last album was mostly about you.”

“It's about what it's about. That's all.”

“Alri-ight.”

Zayn nudges Louis’ foot with his own. “How was your band meeting?”

“Uh, good,” Louis says, as his eyes track Mia upfield. “Good. Worked through some shit.”

“So you're really doing it?”

“Getting back together? Yeah, I think so.”

“Huh. Crazy.”

Louis eyes him. “What?”

Zayn shrugs. “Just didn't think it’d happen. I'm glad for you it is, though.”

”Wanna join us?”

He laughs.

“There's still time,” Louis jokes.

“Even if I had literally any interest in that, you know I’m on the outs with just about everyone except you. And we're divorced, so that's really saying something.”

“It’s fine… it'd be like the Eagles.”

“Yeah, except with the rest of you being best pals.”

“It was never the same without you, y’know,” Louis says. “Still isn't.”

Zayn is quiet for a while, watching the game. “I know,” he finally says, just when Louis has started thinking he's not going to respond.

“Sometimes I think you don't believe that.”

He shrugs.

“But it's true.”

“Look, nothing in the world ever stays the same… Might as well get mad at the sun for going down.”

“Yeah,” Louis deadpans, “you're the _sun_.”

Zayn laughs. “It's a fuckin’ metaphor… I hate you sometimes.”

Louis nudges his foot with his own. “I just don't want you to feel like we forgot about you.”

“I know you didn't.”

Normally in a moment like this, Louis would kiss him, but instead he says, “Anyway, we’re reforming as a heavy metal band, so…”

Zayn chuckles hard at this. “Now I'm interested.”

“Yeah?”

“Open this fucking pit up,” he says, in a flawless imitation of Harry, and Louis has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Mia gets the ball off an offender and kicks it up the length of the field. They loudly cheer for her, and she glances over, smiling at them.

“Am I picking up Amir from the Sherrods, or are you?” Zayn says.

“I am. I put it in the Google Calendar.”

“Right, right.”

“You're welcome to come back with us, if you like,” Louis says. “I dunno what you were doing for dinner…”

“No plans,” Zayn says. “I’d love to stick around.”

”Cool, alright. Let’s do that, then.”

 

VENTURA, MAY 19, 2021

The next time he sees Liam is a PVRIS concert they’d planned to go to together; Louis smokes him out in the car beforehand with a tiny joint he has, and they sit there in the backseat all giggly and stupid, flirting shamelessly with each other. Then they head into the venue up to the balcony, meet up with some friends, have more than several beers and get even more giggly and stupid. It's a hot California night, and the air is thick with possibilities.

“You're such a lightweight anymore, Payno,” Louis says, gazing over at him in the dim light of the stage strobes.

“I know,” Liam says, grinning sheepishly. “I’d actually stopped drinking for a bit.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Got to a point where I wasn’t enjoying it, was only doing it to cover feelings up, which I figured wasn't good. So.”

Louis must look stricken, because Liam rushes to say, “It wasn't, like, a serious problem.”

“I didn't -- I’m not --”

“You just had a face, is all.” Liam nudges him with his shoulder.

“Sorry, didn't mean to have a face.” He nudges him back. “It was me married to an alcoholic for four years face.”

Liam tipsily wraps an arm around his shoulders. Louis’ skin prickles, and then Liam leans in and whispers in his ear, “I’m not an alcoholic, I promise.”

His hot breath makes Louis’ spine melt.

“Alright,” Louis says, turning to him with a smile, looking into his sweet eyes and trying not to let on that his heart's all aflutter. “So you only drink to have fun now?”

“I'll admit,” Liam says, “When I've been drinking with you, lately, I've had mixed motives.”

Louis’ heart does a spastic leap in his chest. He bites at his lip. “Yeah?”

“You make me nervous,” Liam says, with a crooked little smile. His gaze is so warm.

Louis laughs. “You're joking. I make you nervous?”

“Always have, Tommo.”

Everyone around them is into the encore going on below, paying no attention to them whatsoever. Louis can feel the bass thumping in his chest, but he can't really hear the music anymore. He’s adrift in Liam’s dark eyes.

They start to lean into each other, achingly slow. Louis accidentally kicks over his plastic cup of beer where it's sat under his seat. A puddle spreads under his feet. He can't breathe or think.

The arm that's around him moves; Liam’s hand is at the nape of his neck, now, and then they're a centimeter away, breathing each other’s beer-scented air. Liam smells good, like smoky cologne, and a bit like sweat.

Louis meets his lips. The blood rushes from his head, and his heart thunders in his chest. The joy and chemistry between them is instant. Liam’s mouth feels so good on his, and he’s kissing him with such care --

After just a few seconds Louis breaks it off and pulls away, looking down at his hands, every bone and muscle and tendon in his body aching to go back, fall into Liam’s arms.

“I can't,” he whispers.

“It's okay,” Liam says immediately. “Sorry. Shouldn't’ve done that in public… Or at all…”

“You didn't do anythin’, I just kissed _you_ ,” Louis says with a breathy laugh.

He laughs. “Right, you did.”

“Apologies are on me.” Louis inhales. He's spinning a bit, from the beer and the weed. He hasn't smoked in ages. “Can we go?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They both get up, saying hurried goodbyes to the people around them and heading for the stairs. Liam’s fingers go very lightly to the small of his back. Louis’ head swims as he goes down the steps. All he wants is to turn around and snog him.

They have a long, quiet walk down and then out the front of the venue, as the familiar faint pounding of live music grows quieter, and then step out onto the sidewalk. It's late enough to be deserted out here, except for a bloke sitting on a bench across the street, swigging from something hidden in a brown paper bag.

Louis looks up at Liam under the glow of the full moon. “Hey,” he says softly, “I really value our friendship.”

Liam nods, glancing away, out over the empty street. “Me too,” he says. “Look, I get it. If you don't want --”

“But I do want it,” Louis cries, “I don't think you understand how much. I don't think you know how much I, like -- I didn't forget you. I couldn't.”

“Louis,” Liam says, and looks back at him again, pained. “You don't need to do this.”

“Maybe I do! Maybe I _want_ to tell you these things, is that alright?”

Liam studies him, then nods. “Okay.”

“I tried to forget,” he says throatily. “I tried to forget what happened with us. And I never could. I never did.”

He looks away, struggling to put the swirling, febrile frenzy of emotions in his gut into words.

“Just -- everything got so screwy with us before,” he says. “And now, maybe the band’s starting up again, and… I sort of want to try being normal friends for a while. See how long we can hack it. It's only been two months.”

Liam nods. “It has,” he says gently. “Listen, I think you've got the right idea, honestly.”

They look at each other with miserable longing.

“God, I just want you to touch me,” Louis breathes.

“Tommo,” Liam says, sounding strangled, and then they're kissing again, desperately, teeth clicking.

They stumble back toward the brick wall behind them, and Liam pushes him hard up against it. Louis goes boneless in his strong grip, gasping against his mouth.

They snog like cats in heat for a minute, Liam sucking hard at his bottom lip and rubbing his knee between Louis’ legs, against his cock. Louis grabs at his shirt and accidentally tears it open, sending buttons clattering to the sidewalk. Liam wraps his arms more securely around him, his hands clasped to the small of Louis’ back, and Louis thinks that if Liam were to lower him down on the asphalt and start fucking him right here he'd be perfectly fine with it.

“Okay, wait,” Liam pants, pulling back. His eyes are a bit wild, and his lips are swollen and red. Louis’ neck is burning from where Liam’s beard rubbed. “You want to try just being friends, I wanna honor that, and if we don't stop right now we're not gonna be able to --”

“Fuck,” Louis moans softly, and Liam visibly tenses. “Aye, no, you're right, you're right --”

Liam takes a very decisive step back. Louis watches his bare, dark-haired chest rise and fall.

“I ripped your shirt,” he murmurs.

Liam looks down and laughs softly. “Ah, you did, bro.”

Inside the venue, they hear a soft roar of footsteps and crowd noises that mean the first wave of concert-goers is letting out.

“I'll put it on your lifetime tab,” he adds with a little smile, and gets his phone out of his pocket.

Louis grins. “Hey,” he says throatily, “you reckon anyone caught us kissing upstairs earlier?”

He's sure they were in enough shadow to avoid detection, otherwise he wouldn't be joking about it.

“Ha, well, we’ll find out tomorrow.”

“We can always say it was an accident.”

Liam shoots a glance toward the door and shifts his weight as he tucks his stiffy up under the waistband of his jeans. “Yeah, I'm sure Zayn’d buy that… probably send a hitman to my house...”

“Nah, he’d be way more subtle, he’d arrange to ‘ave a piano dropped on your head or somethin’.”

Liam laughs good-naturedly. “So... want a ride home? I just called a car.”

“That'd be perfect, thanks.”

Louis draws near to him for a hug, and they hold each other tight for a moment. He could stay in Liam’s arms for ages; he feels safe in them. He squeezes the soft fabric of Liam’s torn-up shirt in his fingers, pressing his nose to the dip of his clavicle. Liam kisses him tenderly on the forehead.

“Lee-yum,” Louis murmurs, and brushes his knee against Liam’s hard-on.

“Hey, hey,” Liam says in a pleasant little growl.

“Sorry.”

They separate, smiling bawdily. Behind them, the venue doors creak open and people begin pouring out, chatting raucously about the show and bumming cigarettes off each other.

Their friend A.J. sidles up to them immediately, socking Liam gently in the arm. “Hey, where'd you guys sneak off to?”

“Went to smoke,” Louis says airily.

“Thought you were saying you quit?” A.J. says.

“It was me,” Liam covers. “Been smoking again, lately.”

“Oh yeah? Can I bum one?”

“Nah, sorry, mate, it was my last one.”

“Shit,” A.J. says, then lifts his eyebrows. “What the fuck happened to your shirt?”

“It's been like this,” Liam lies, glancing down at his bare chest. “Why, it's not working on me?”

“No, man, you look like a stripper.”

“That’s sort of what I was going for.”

A.J. chuckles. “Alright, I'm gonna go find somebody with cigs,” he says, and departs.

“Seeya,” Liam calls after him.

“Nice,” Louis mouths, giving him their old high sign.

Liam grimaces and checks his phone. “Alright, finally, car’s here,” he says, and ushers Louis down the sidewalk.

“How's your willy?” Louis says in a very soft voice as they pass a group of girls smoking as they teeter in heels.

“Smothered to death,” Liam whispers in his ear. “Yours?”

“Honestly, these pants are so tight I can barely tell.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Liam says, sounding amused. “You fill them out nice, by the way.”

“Is that about my arse, you big pervert?”

“I'm sorry, Tommo, you can't ask me not to notice your arse, I'm only human.”

Louis pretends he isn't both delighted and flustered by this as he climbs into the car. “So, that show was pretty sick…”

“Oh, _so_ good!” Liam exclaims, climbing in behind him. “Lynn’s great.”

 

BEVERLY HILLS, MAY 20, 2021

Mia comes to him when he's in the middle of shaving the following morning, tapping his razor against the side of the deep, bell-like bathroom sink.

Louis greatly likes his new house; it's smaller than their old one, but feels roomier because of the high ceilings and great northern exposure. He likes the long, shady, tree-lined driveway, he likes that every bit of the house (except the kids’ rooms) is exactly the way he wants it. He has a football room -- totally dedicated to either watching football or playing FIFA. And there's a beautiful, sunny morning room right off the kitchen, where he takes breakfast with the kids and gets filled in on the travails of their little lives and what new adventures they expect await them that day.

Both of them have grown more independent since the divorce. Mia’s smart mouth has gotten worse, but she's gotten even more leaderly at school, and seems to be channeling her frustration into peewee soccer, so he and Zayn are just letting her be herself while she works through it.

Amir has been moodier, but he's also at an age for that, and his teacher thinks he's a perfectly behaved little genius, so they try not to worry about him too much. He’s clingier with Zayn, now, and less so with Louis, which Louis tries not to let hurt his feelings. On the bright side, Mia’s become his best buddy again -- she sticks to him like glue.

She often comes to see him in the morning, like she does today, showing him a video on her iPad of Mallory Pugh doing a bicycle kick. “I wanna do _that_ ,” she says passionately.

Louis grins and sets the razor down. “Maybe in about ten years, love. It's a little dangerous.”

“I'm a big girl!”

“You are, you are. But I need you to be pretty big physically before you start trying shit like that.”

“How tall?” Mia says, rising to her tiptoes.

Louis holds a hand a few inches below his shoulders. “‘Least five two, baby. So eat your vegetables.”

She pouts at him.

“Hey,” he says, and kneels down in front of her. “Got a question for you.”

Her face lights up; she loves when he talks to her like she's a fellow adult. “Yeah?”

“What do you and your brother think about my friend Liam? The beardy bloke, the one from Starbucks? I've brought him around a couple times, now.”

Mia considers this, her blue eyes rolling upward as she thinks. "I like him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He makes you laugh."

Louis smiles. "Yeah. He does."

"I like it when you're not sad. You were sad for like, _forever_. And Daddy made you sad. I hear you talking on the phone."

Louis inhales. “You hear me on the phone?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm sorry, love. You're not meant to.”

Mia shrugs. “I beesdrop.”

“Eavesdrop?”

“What's _eaves_?” She shakes her head, her dark pigtails bouncing. “Beesdrop. Like ‘none of your beeswax.’”

“It's -- never mind. So you feel comfortable with Liam coming 'round? Being in the house?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I just wanted to know."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to know."

"Why?"

"It was something I needed to know."

"But why?" she challenges, sounding really American as she says it, and Louis internally winces at that.

"Sometimes I need to know things, as your dad, and you don't need to worry about them, 'cos I'll worry about them for you. Alright?"

"Okay," Mia says, agreeably.

"D'you by any chance know how Amir feels about Liam?"

She shakes her head. "But you know what I _do_ know? Six times five is thirty."

"Fantastic."

 

*

 

When he takes them to school, he lingers out front with Amir for a moment, telling Mia to run along ahead.

“Sweets,” he says, and kneels in the grass, squeezing Amir’s shoulders.

Amir lifts his chin high, almost defiantly, his eyes glowing in the sunshine. He looks like Zayn when he does that, or maybe like Louis too. It's hard to tell, beyond the coloring, who he really resembles -- his slim build and fine-boned little face are like a Rorschach test, reflecting whichever parent is on your mind. When he's recalcitrant and withdrawn, he looks like both of them, but in moments of unguarded happiness, he looks like both of them too. In Mia, you can pick out individual features -- Louis’ eyes, Zayn’s mouth -- but they mixed evenly when they made their son, like paint.

“I want to ask you about my friend Liam,” he says. “D'you mind when he comes around?"

Amir shrugs. “No.”

“No, you don't mind?”

He shrugs again, but his jaw is stiff.

“Hey,” Louis says gently. “What's wrong?”

“I'm scared when you leave at nighttime,” he admits. 

“Oh, lovey… But someone's always there -- Ingrid, or someone...”

“I know."

"Then what scares you?"

He takes a while to spit it out, but finally: "What if you don't come home?"

Louis feels gutted. “Love, I'll always come home, I promise.” He strokes his dark hair. “I'm sorry. I won't go out for a while, if it's bothering you."

“Okay,” Amir says, looking relieved.

“Would you mind if I had Liam over more often, then? To watch TV and things?”

"Okay. Liam's nice. He gives me lollipops. Like a doctor.”

“Brilliant.” Louis kisses him on the forehead. He's going to miss doing that, when he outgrows it. “C’mere, I'll walk you to class.”

Amir takes his hand, and they head toward the sundrenched building, waving to Brigitte and her dad as they go by in front of them.

“ _Is_ Liam a doctor?” Amir says, as they step into the front hall, stopping short of a few kids who dart past them.

Louis laughs. “No, no. I told you, he plays music, like me and your dad.”

“Oh.” He sounds a bit disappointed. “A doctor would be cool.”

“I agree.”

 

*

 

Louis is halfway back to his house when he realizes he's completely distracted. He pulls to a stop at a red, gnawing at his thumbnail, then reaches in his pocket for his nicotine gum.

When the light turns, instead of making a left toward his place, he turns right, heading further up into the hills.

 

*

 

It feels so stupid just rolling up to someone’s front gate like this, totally uninvited. Liam’s probably not even home. Louis buzzes and waits for half a minute, and then Liam’s voice crackles over the line. “Who is it?”

“Louis,” he says.

Pause.

“Oh, hey,” Liam says warmly. “What's up, mate?”

“Just stopping by, was in the neighborhood.”

“Cool, well, come on in.”

He pulls up into the circular driveway. Liam’s house overlooks the rest of his gated community, a stern modernist enclave peering down over the rest, keeping watch. Stone lions sit perched at either edge of his porch, their mouths agape in silent roars.

Liam greets him at the door, pulling it open right as Louis walks up. “I've got a few people over,” he whispers. He's all decked out -- three chains around his neck, two gold, one silver, his hair full of product, wearing leather trousers, high-top Jordans and a white tee. And the beard is gone. “Just got back from a photoshoot.”

“I can go,” Louis says immediately.

“No, no, I just meant -- hey, look, come in, alright?”

Liam tugs him inside and leads him into the sitting room, where there's a gaggle of guys, some familiar faces, some not. The ones who know Louis all cry out in a simultaneous pleased shout -- “Tommo!” and Liam turns to look at him fondly. They exchange a smile, and then Louis hovers in an awkward limbo, having interrupted the conversation and brought a weird charged tension into the room.

“Hey, Louis,” says Mike, leaning forward. “I didn't get a chance to tell you, but I loved your last album.”

“Thanks, man, that means a lot.”

“So, uh…” Liam rubs at his newly clean-shaven cheeks. “You lot were gonna grab lunch, right?”

There's a chorus of yesses from the couch.

“Wanna head out, and I’ll meet up with you later? Got to talk to Tommo here.”

Louis smiles tightly, folding his arms.

“Yeah, sure,” says Joey, and Sam nods.

They all file out, patting Liam and Louis on the shoulders as they go.

“We’ll be at Waithe’s!” Mike calls over his shoulder.

“Got it!” Liam calls back.

When the front door shuts, they study each other a bit uneasily.

“Sunday’s at school?” Louis says.

“Yeah, yeah. Your kids?”

“Yeah, just dropped ‘em off. Where's she go?”

“Goddard Academy,” Liam says. “What about yours?”

“Les Petits Apprenants,” he says, in a terrible, nasally French accent, and Liam laughs.

“I’ve heard they're good. I couldn't get Sunday in there, ‘cos we moved halfway into the school year.”

Louis, thrumming with nerves, clasps his sweaty palms together. “Soo…”

Liam’s eyes flick over him. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Uh… just. I've been thinking, uh, about, y’know, us.”

There's a pause while Liam considers this.

“Thought we already talked about us,” he says hesitantly. “Thought you had some good ideas about us.”

Louis’ chest rises and falls as he struggles to work his thoughts into words. The bright natural light bouncing through the open floor plan of the house illuminates Liam in a soft, hazy halo, and his dark gaze is so fixed on Louis, so unblinking, it's hard to concentrate.

 “Right,” he says, “ah, maybe they weren't so good. Maybe they were stupid.”

Liam tilts his head. Louis’ heart is pounding away.

“I'm just --” He stops, swallows, and starts again. “I keep thinking about what I said. And I also keep thinking about, like, how life is short, y’know? We're not guaranteed anything. And I can't figure out why I'm stopping myself from being happy, besides feeling guilty about Zayn, ‘cos he'd absolutely hate this...”

Liam nods.

“But we didn't work out,” Louis says, “me and him, and it had nothing to do with you. And I’d totally let go of you, even. Not _you_ , but us, you know? And now, ever since I ran into you…”

He trails off breathlessly. Liam is sort of vibrating on the spot; it's clear from the look on his face that all he wants to do is to step forward and take Louis in his arms, but he's going to great pains to stop himself from doing so.

“I just missed you these few years,” Louis says softly, gazing at him, “and I think about you all the time lately, what it would be like to really be together. I'm not crazy, right? We could take it really slow? We're on the same page, wiv our kids and things -- I know we're both figuring out how to be alone, I don't want to fuck that up, but --”

But. The buts are too numerous, too overwhelming. The buts are everything good in life -- raw possibility, new beginnings, comforting cyclicality. That the one who got away could be standing in front of you again; that after eleven years, all you still are is just two wounded boys in a room together, figuring out how to be.

Liam loses his battle with himself and surges forward, their lips meeting, rough and wet. Louis lets out a small moan and stumbles forward against him; Liam is gripping the back of his shirt in his fist, and then he picks him up like a wild Viking man, carrying him toward the stairs while they snog passionately.

Liam staggers up the first few steps ‘til they hit the landing, then sets him down. “Sorry, can't actually carry you up all these stairs,” he pants, his lips red and his shellacked hair all askew.

“What good are you, then, Payno?” Louis purrs.

They move up them very slowly in lockstep, kissing and undressing each other as they do. Liam moves to take the chains off his neck, and Louis stops him. “Keep those on, yeah?”

“Weirdo,” Liam breathes against his mouth, but he sounds appreciative and squeezes a handful of his arse.

They do a sex-drunk, dizzy waltz together all the way to Liam’s bedroom, which is wide and white and spartan, with a vaulted ceiling and a large, dark-framed bed in the center.

They gravitate toward it steadily, and then right as Louis is expecting Liam to drop him down against the mattress -- his back muscles have tensed, in anticipation of the fall -- Liam wraps one hand easily around both his wrists, his grip firm ( _God_ , Louis thinks, his cock pulsing, _Christ_ ) and stares intently into his eyes. “You sure about this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he shouts, “so will you quit talking and just fuck me already?”

Liam grins. “Yeah,” he says, and they sink back against the sheets together, “yeah, I can do that.”

For all of their frantic pawing, they grow quiet and tender once they're actually in bed. They lie there for a while stroking each other’s faces and kissing sweetly, staring at each other like they're wondering if the other is real. Then Louis starts rubbing at Liam’s cock with his knee, and they start collaborating in tugging his leather trousers off his arse, which is surprisingly difficult.

“What are you wearing leather for,” Louis exclaims in frustration, “fuck’s sake, you're like, thirty --”

“I am not,” Liam hollers as he sits up, yanking them off his arse with renewed vigor, his chains bouncing on his chest and catching the light. “I'm twenty-eight!”

“Close enough!”

“If I'm in my twenties I'm allowed to wear leather pants!”

“You're a dad!”

“You're a dad, and you're thirty-one, and you're wearing Vans!”

“They're comfortable!” Louis shouts. “Get your trousers off and fuck me!”

“Ahh! Alright!”

Liam tears them over his ankles, turning them inside out as he does, and flings them away from himself, hitting a lamp, which clatters to the floor. They hear the bulb shatter.

Liam is on him again without a care in the world, though, sucking at his neck, caressing his hair. Louis wraps his legs around Liam's waist, shivering with delight. “Fuck your lamp,” he says throatily.

“Fuck my lamp,” Liam growls in his ear. “I'll break every lamp in this fucking house.”

Louis giggles. “All for me?”

“Absolutely...”

They snog some more. Liam starts fingering at him with gentle curiosity while stroking his cock with his other hand. Louis feels heady, feverish, drunk; pleasure is building in the bottom of his spine, fizzy tingles, like a glass of champagne that's just been poured.

Their bodies, which have forgotten what the other felt like, are buoyant upon becoming reacquainted.

Louis was worried he'd be insecure, but he isn't at all. Liam's desire is worshipful; he missed that about him.

Liam smells different now -- not in a bad way, just some subtle change he can't place. His body moves differently, with more confidence and cohesion. Louis watches the muscles ripple in his shoulders as he slides another finger in; a spasm of arousal lights up his body, and he gasps.

Liam kisses him. “Good?”

“Yeah, yeah. I think I'm ready…”

“Condom?”

“Nah, I’m set.”

“Okay,” Liam murmurs, and they kiss some more, long lingering kisses.

He slides into Louis slowly, and Louis moans brokenly into his mouth, gripping at the bedspread with one hand and using the other to grip Liam’s mousse-sticky hair. The pain is a distant burn underneath the relief of finally getting Liam inside him.

“God,” Louis breathes raggedly, “God.”

Liam inhales. “You're tight,” he murmurs, nuzzling his throat.

“I haven't, um.” He hesitates, shifting on the bed, his breath hitching as Liam presses deeper inside him. “Haven't done this in a bit.”

“I'll go slow.”

“Okay,” Louis murmurs, running his stubby fingernails down the nape of Liam’s neck and over his back.

Liam starts tenderly thrusting into him, stroking his cock at the same time, and Louis clutches at him needily, wrapping his arms around his waist. The chains on Liam’s neck are pressed between them.

“You feel so good,” he moans. Their motion moves the bed back and forth, making it creak softly.

Liam kisses at his cheekbones and temples with sweet reverence as he moves his hips, letting out soft little groans. Louis’ already starting to leak precome. It’s dribbling down Liam’s knuckles.

The rhythm increases, evens out, and soon they're lost in their fucking. Louis is a mess, moaning in encouragement, his head tipped back, eyes closed.

“I missed you,” Liam whispers in his ear. The pain in his voice makes Louis’ heart clench, and he runs his fingers delicately through Liam’s hair.

Louis comes first, groaning and arching his back. Wonderful orgasm blooms in his pelvis and snakes through the rest of his body, making him dizzy and weak in the limbs. Liam kisses him in the sweaty hollow of his throat, stroking him even as he softens, rubbing his thumb over his tip. Louis sighs breathily and blindly finds his lips again, sucking and biting at them.

Liam comes shortly after, sighing and clutching Louis close, pressing their bellies together and kissing him on the jaw. They lie there for a while, breathing hard, stroking each other in a daze.

“Can't believe you're here,” Liam murmurs, his voice throaty. “In my bed. Doesn't feel quite real.”

“I know…”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Honestly? Just couldn't stand it anymore.”

They roll over stickily so they can lie on their sides and look at each other. Liam’s dark eyes search his face, and he strokes Louis’ fringe back from his forehead.

“I think my son had a bit to do with it,” he says. “I was worried he didn't like you, 'cos he's gotten closer with Zayn, lately, and I know they've sort of picked up on, like -- that you've kind of filled that void in my life, lately. The void their dad left."

"That's me, the void-filler."

"Aw, you know what I mean," Louis says, then winks. "Besides, didn't you just fill one o' my voids?"

Liam laughs and snogs him messily. When they separate, he rubs at his reddened lips and says, “Does Amir not? Like me, I mean. I can never tell, he's so hard to read.”

“No, he doesn't mind you, apparently. Which was a massive relief. And…” Louis shifts on the pillow and nuzzles closer to Liam, who wraps his arms around him. “On top of that, my therapist said the other day, somethin’ like, ‘You’ve got to stop taking care of everyone, stop putting everyone’s happiness over your own.’ So I was driving away from the kids’ school, and I just couldn't stop thinking, like, what the fuck am I doing, then? Why am I holding myself back from this?”

Liam smiles.

“An’ then…” he trails off. “I'm here.”

The look on Liam's face is so warm, it almost hurts to look at him. Louis kisses him on the nose, and Liam laughs.

“I could go again in a little while,” he says.

“Good.” Louis climbs on top of him and straddles him so they can snog easier. Liam settles his hands at the dip of Louis’ waist, squeezing him. He can't seem to get enough handfuls of Louis.

Louis draws back from him after a while, his lips buzzing and burning. “Feel my heart,” he murmurs, and takes Liam’s hand in his, pressing his warm palm to the center of his chest. “Feel how fast it's going…”

Liam shifts his palm to the left, his fingers grazing Louis’ collarbone. After a moment, he says, “Same as mine,” and Louis lowers his head to press his ear to Liam’s chest, pushing the chains aside. He's right, his is going a mile a minute, too.

Liam runs his fingernails up Louis’ back, making him shiver pleasantly.

“Feels exactly like it did seven years ago,” he says softly.

“Really?” Louis flicks his thumb over Liam's nipple, making him laugh and wriggle. “I was just thinking how different you feel.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You got better at sex, Payno.”

“Was I lousy before?” he says cheekily.

“Nah, nah.” Louis tips his head up, grins at him and gives him a kiss. “Just better now. We were only kids, then.”

“Consider this, though, you were pregnant, and I was being gentle.”

“Well, you haven't got that excuse anymore, do you?” he teases him.

Liam grabs him around the waist and flips him onto his back, and then they roll around on the bed wrestling and kissing and giggling. 

“Anyways, you're not so bad yourself,” Liam murmurs, then blows raspberries on his belly, making him curl up and laugh, slapping him away.

“Hey, you still think I'm cute?” he says, rolling back over.

“Huh, I dunno,” Liam says, faking deep thought. “Let's ask my hard-on.” Louis cackles. “Yes, I still think you're cute, you silly wanker. What about me?”

“Yeah, you're alright,” he says with a slow smile, running his fingers through Liam’s hair again. “No, you're very cute. Haven't you noticed me dropping shit and stuttering around you?”

“No,” Liam admits. “Too busy trying not to stare a hole in you.”

“What a pair we are.”

“Ah, we’re just out of practice.”

"I have noticed you looking at my bum, though."

Liam pinches him on it. "In my defense, it's looking quite thick, lad."

He snorts. "'S'only 'cos I quit smoking." 

They go quiet, looking at each other. Louis tilts his head, and they start snogging again. He takes Liam’s half-hard cock in his hand, then, loving how he can feel him thicken in his fingers, making Liam gasp against his mouth.

“God,” he murmurs, “I’m gonna miss my lunch, aren't I?”

“Fuck your lunch,” Louis says, and bites hard at his bottom lip. Liam squeezes his arse greedily in response.

He sits up, and at the same time, Liam settles onto his back. They grin at each other.

“Can I get a ride, mister?” Louis says, crawling over him to straddle him cowgirl.

“Wait, but I wanna kiss you,” Liam says, in such an earnestly romantic way that Louis’ heart skips about four beats.

“Then sit up.”

Liam does sit up, and wraps an arm around him, dragging him onto his lap like a caveman. Louis wraps his legs around Liam's waist, and they fumble under him, trying to ease his cock back in.

Louis’ breath hitches. He rises up as he inhales, his chest filling. Liam touches his fingers to his face, stroking his cheekbone and then running his thumb along Louis’ lower lip. Louis locks eyes with him and takes the tip of Liam's thumb into his mouth, sucking on it. Liam gasps and moves his hips, pushing deeper into Louis, rocking up against his prostate. Pleasure pulses in Louis’ gut, and he bites down.

Liam yanks his hand away and takes Louis’ face in his hand again, his fingers wrapped hard around the his neck, his thumb pressed to his jawbone. Louis melts in his arms. He's sorely missed being manhandled.

“Bad,” Liam murmurs, smiling at him, as warm as the sun. His other hand is gently cradling the small of Louis’ back.

“How bad?” he purrs, starting to ride Liam's cock. “Show me how bad I am.”

Liam shows him. They fuck for a lot longer this time -- first him in Liam's lap, then doggystyle for a bit, and finally missionary again, his favorite way to get fucked. He loves to just lie there and call out instructions. Liam is very receptive, too, and now does fancy innovative things like shove a pillow under Louis' lower back and tilt his hips up so he can get as deep in him as humanly possible, which leaves him a boneless moaning mess, adrift in a sea of pleasure.

“God God God,” he groans. “Leeyum.”

“Yeah love,” Liam pants, his tattooed arms braced on either side of Louis’ ribs, his nice biceps straining.

“You're so good.” He drags in a hiccupy inhale. “Never stop.”

“I gotta stop sometime,” Liam says with a chuckle, and kisses him.

“I've been having dreams about you fuckin’ me,” Louis says, entirely by accident, because he's about to come again and his brain-to-mouth filter is shot. Not that he had a good one to begin with. “And it wasn't even like this. This is better.”

“You've been -- _ah_ \-- dreaming about that?” Liam sounds deeply pleased, and starts fucking him a bit harder.

Louis moans and writhes underneath him. “For a while now, yeah.”

“I've been thinking about you,” Liam says, his voice hitching. “Not dreams. I don't dream much.”

“What d’you think about?” Louis gazes into his eyes. They've gained this saturnine quality -- he's got the dark circles of single parenting, and those and his thick lashes emphasize the darkness of his irises, making them luminously dusky.

“Ahh,” Liam says. He's breathy -- maybe embarrassed, maybe tired, hard to tell. “Been thinking about you when I jerk off.”

“Yeah?” Louis rolls his hips, and Liam inhales. “What's better, that or this?”

Liam slows for a minute. “This is a hundred thousand times better,” he says throatily, and kisses Louis deep on the mouth.

Louis comes right after this, which is terribly sappy of him. He holds Liam close, digging what fingernails he's got into his arse, and Liam does beautiful stroke work that lets Louis ride his orgasm out like he's surfing a good wave. Liam has really gotten so good with his hips. Maybe it's all the dancing.

“I'm gonna come,” he murmurs in Louis’ ear, kissing his cheek.

“Go on,” Louis urges, wrapping his legs more tightly around him to increase the hot vice on his cock. He watches as Liam’s back muscles work, and wraps an arm around his head, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. “Go on, love.”

Liam comes in him again, softly groaning and gently biting at a muscle in Louis’ shoulder. He pulls out, and they lie there, spent, him stretched across Louis like a bear rug, face half in his armpit.

“Alright?” Louis murmurs to him.

Liam groans softly. “Yeah.”

Louis feels a little twinge, looking at him. He's having a post-orgasm crisis of confidence.

“Why do I feel sort of guilty, now?” he whispers.

Liam doesn't answer for a while, then says, his voice muffled, “I know what you mean.”

“I haven't, um. I haven't had sex that really meant something since Zayn.”

“Yeah,” Liam says. “Me neither. Since Ceci, I mean. I tried a couple flings, but, I dunno. I can't do that. I need the emotional bit.”

Louis runs his fingers over Liam’s downy, sweat-damp scalp. “Me too.”

“I have that with you, if that wasn't clear.”

Louis laughs. “I got that, Payno. I, um, I feel the same way.”

“We didn't do anything wrong, though. We're allowed to be happy. Not everything in life’s got to be a great act of self-sacrifice, or pleasing somebody else.”

“Very wise.”

“I’m just taking a page from your book and quoting my therapist,” he says, and they both laugh, then fall quiet for a while.

“So, you like it there, in me armpit?” Louis murmurs.

“Your sweat smells sorta nice, actually. That gross?”

He laughs. “Bit gross, but I'll let it slide. You wanna shower? We're both covered in come.”

“Oh, no,” Liam exclaims, lifting his head. “Come on my nice sheets.”

“Well, you brought me in here!”

“I know, I know. Alright, you jump in the shower and I'll start a load of laundry.”

Louis gets out of bed, stumbling like he's tipsy from the head rush. Liam strips the sheets, then comes over, snatches him around the waist and kisses him again. He looks sort of silly -- his hair’s all standing on end, and he's naked except for his jewelry, but Louis kind of likes it.

They separate, gazing at each other, all starry eyes and reddened lips.

“Hi,” Liam murmurs.

“Hi,” Louis says, with a dizzy grin.

 

 

LOS ANGELES, JULY 30, 2021

Louis and Liam get a quick breakfast downtown before the meeting, then head to it together; they don't really talk about whether or not they're going to tell Niall and Harry.

They've taken things remarkably slow so far. There's been a lot of talking, but for the first time in ten years of knowing each other, there’s a lot of contented silence, too. Quiet, shoeless moonlit strolls on the beach, holding hands. Dinners where they just sit there and smile at each other over their wine glasses.

They try not to sleep at each other’s houses, if the kids are home. Liam often walks Louis up to his, or vice versa, and they part with a little kiss at the door, like courting teenagers. 

So sex is mostly stolen moments in the car, and at each other’s houses in the lazy golden late morning and early afternoon. 

It's easy, so far, partly because it's private. Louis tells a handful of people. Liam hasn’t told anybody. “My friends think you're trouble for me,” he admitted a few weeks in, which terribly offended Louis.

But that being the case, there's no real pressure. They tell who they want when they want, they don't look toward milestones, they don't count the days or months. They aren't seeing nasty headlines about themselves, yet. They haven't even had a real argument so far -- only their standard ribbing and pisstaking. They just are, and they enjoy every minute they get.

They're both a bit broken, of course. It's nice to be able to forget about it, to get away from it, to remember what it's like to be desired and cared about and have somebody in your life. But it bleeds through. Both of them are, at times, guilt-ridden, conflicted, grief-stricken, or worried about their kids. During one of their dates on a cool night in June, Liam is embroiled in a heated text argument with Ceci about how she wants to bring Sunday back a day early, because she has a long meeting the next day, but so does he. Liam keeps apologizing to him, and Louis keeps assuring him that it's fine, then picking listlessly at his endive salad while Liam's thumbs fly frantically at his keyboard across the table.

When they're home later, in bed, Louis has just drifted off to sleep when he hears a phone ring and feels Liam's weight leave his side of the bed. He rolls over and squints into the blue dark, listening to Liam's side of the conversation through the bathroom door.

The call peters into silence. Louis lies there, waiting for Liam to return. When he doesn't, he worriedly goes in there and finds him sitting at the edge of the tub, phone in one hand and his face buried in the other, shaking with silent sobs. Louis gets choked up himself, because Liam never cries, not like this. And then he goes over and holds him for a long time.

He worries quite a bit, too, about how hurt Zayn will be when he finds out. It's inevitable, of course, but their post-marriage relationship is so good and solid. They haven't fought about anything in God knows how long, and they've started hanging out again, just kicking back together, talking about music and the kids, who have begun to settle into their new normal. Zayn is fiendishly sober, and working his arse off on album three -- due out in September. Louis still hasn’t heard much of it, which makes him think he was right, it probably is about him. 

Ironically, One Direction is now on RCA with him -- or is about to be, anyway. They had to stay with Sony, and of all the labels under its umbrella, RCA made them the best offer. The band is meeting at their downtown offices to sign a bunch of final paperwork and officially commit.

Louis and Liam chat mindlessly about football on the elevator ride up to the twenty-fifth floor. Halfway up, Liam takes his hand and squeezes it, and Louis falls quiet, his eyes fixed on their reflections in the black mirrored walls.

“What's up?” Liam says.

“Should we tell them?”

He laughs. “They'll figure it out, trust me.”

“Yeah, reckon you're right.”

Liam brings their intertwined hands to his lips and kisses Louis’ knuckles.

Louis smiles at him. “I've been avoiding Niall for that exact reason,” he says.

“Poor Nialler.”

“He practically pushed me into your lap, y’know.”

“Oh, I know. Same here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Liam exclaims. “Kept going on and on, like, ‘Louis is mad about you, fancies you rotten! Make a move before you lose him, dummy!’”

“That little sneak.”

“Aw, he's just a romantic, is all. And he wants to see us happy.”

The doors open on the twenty-fifth floor, and Louis drops Liam's hand. His palms have begun to sweat. He wipes them on his jeans.

The halls are quiet, this high up. They only pass one person on their way, a bloke who looks like a lawyer and has his face buried in his Blackberry. After he goes by, Liam lightly touches his fingertips to Louis’ lower back, like he does sometimes.

Louis turns to him. “Hang on,” he says, then glances behind him to make sure the lawyer is gone. They exchange a sweet kiss, Liam slipping his arm around Louis’ waist and pulling him up onto his tiptoes.

Louis draws back after a moment. “Once they know, we’re out of the bubble,” he says. “Won't be the same again.”

Liam nods. “That ain't always a bad thing.”

“I know. Just wanted one last private moment.”

Liam pulls him close and sways with him, like slow-dancing. “I get you.”

 

*

 

In a room at the end of the hall, Niall and Harry are alone, but it looks like some execs or lawyers probably came by earlier -- there's abandoned cups of coffee at seats no one’s sitting at, and a half-eaten bagel lying on a napkin.

The room is small, with tall, dark gray walls, and the chromed tables in it shine dimly from the sliver of afternoon light pouring in the curtained windows. Harry and Niall are sitting across from each other, talking quietly, their phones lying on the table and paperwork strewn everywhere.

They look up as Louis and Liam walk in and call “hey” in unison.

“Hey, boys,” Louis says. Liam waves.

“There’s catering, if you're hungry,” Niall says, lowering his glasses to scratch the bridge of his nose.

Louis glances over his shoulder and sees a Dean & Deluca spread down the table from them.

“I'm good,” he says. He's a bit nervous.

“I'd fancy a bagel,” Liam says, giving him a boyfriendly squeeze on the shoulder as he goes over to fetch one. Louis remains, hovering, staring at Harry and Niall and fiddling with his watch.

Harry finally looks up at him. “Alright?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes a stack of papers toward him, his rings flashing in the sunlight. “Start getting your initials on these, then.”

Louis takes a seat next to Niall and picks up a pen. He flips through them; they're already peppered with HSes and NHes.

Liam glances over as he schmears his bagel, and they exchange a little smile.

“Oy,” Niall says, tossing his pen down. “I think me eyes just quit working. Probably be less work if we just went and started our own label.”

“Want a cup of coffee, Tommo?” Liam says, as he pours his own.

“Sure, babe,” he says, on autopilot.

Harry’s eyebrows jump, and his hand pauses mid-signature. Niall instantly lights up with joy.

“I mean Payno,” he exclaims, but it's already too late.

“No you didn't,” Niall says with a grin. “Finally! You finally did it, you gobshites? God bless us all, this is like Christmas came early.”

Liam comes over with the coffee in his hands and an affable grimace on his face. “Well, we made it a whole thirty seconds.”

“Sorry,” Louis says, laughing.

Liam sits next to Harry and slides Louis’ cup over to him. “Right,” he says, “yeah… we actually were meaning to talk to you two about this.”

“So you are back together, then?” Harry drawls with a little smile. He rubs at his bleary eyes. “Gosh, I’m shocked. You could knock me over with a feather.”

“Aw, leave ‘em alone,” Niall scolds. “How long’s it been?”

“‘Bout two months,” Louis says.

“We’re trying to be casual, take it slow,” Liam adds quickly. “We haven't even told anyone, really, but we thought you ought to know.”

Niall is beaming like Ireland just won the World Cup.

“We appreciate it,” Harry says, flipping over to the next sheet in the packet he's working on. “Now don't you dare break up again.”

Louis shoots a look at him. “Cheers!”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m jet-lagged, is all,” Harry says, and gives Liam an affectionate pat on the arm. “I’m happy for you both, seriously. It's lovely. Mazel tov.”

“Thanks, mate,” says Liam.

Louis takes a sip of his coffee.

“What d’you mean by takin’ it slow?” Niall says.

Liam looks to Louis, who shrugs.

“Just, y’know, taking it slow,” he says.

“Not having sex?” Harry says, his doe eyes glimmering with a very un-doelike lurid interest.

Liam loudly clears his throat and looks down at his clasped hands.

“Nah, we’re having sex,” Louis says nonchalantly.

“Yeah?” Harry presses the end of his pen to his lush bottom lip, surveying them. “So how're you going slow, then?”

Louis shrugs. “We’re just not rushing things, not putting a label on it, whatever. Want it to be a sure thing before we tell the kids.”

“Makes sense.”

Liam is still looking flustered, rubbing his thumbs together.

“You alright, mate?” Harry says.

“I don't want to talk to youse about our _sex_ life,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

“C’mon, you and I talk about sex!” Harry looks flabbergasted. "All the time, actually!"

“Me too,” Niall puts in. “You both tell me about sex."

“This is different,” Liam says, and he's got one of his stubborn faces, his dark brow knit. “You know Louis as well as you know me, and we're all gonna be in close quarters. We'd like a bit of privacy. It's just gonna be awkward otherwise."

A smirking Harry mouths “ _they're in luuurve_ ” at Niall. Niall grins and nods.

“Stop it!” Louis kicks one of them under the table -- he can't tell which until Harry cries, “Oww!”

“What?” Liam says, glancing between the three of them. 

“They're being little shits,” Louis tells him.

“Stop that,” Liam repeats, very sternly but to no one in particular.

"The flip side of that is the close quarters thing is that it's going to be equally awkward if we all pretend you two aren't together," Harry says. "Around everyone else is fine, but just amongst ourselves is ludicrous."

“Look, I think we're both just sick of having all our shit out in the open, like it's been for so long,” Louis says. “I'm really enjoying the privacy, for once.”

Liam nods.

“And you're in _luurve_ ,” Harry adds, with a coquettish tilt of the head.

“Stuff it, Harold,” Louis retorts.

Harry’s mouth falls open. “For your information,” he says, “I just broke up with that arts dealer I've been seeing, alright?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, mate,” Liam says.

He flaps his hand. “It’s fine… we had, like, nothing in common. But the least you can do is indulge me with a little romance.”

“Tell you what,” Louis says, “when we’re on tour, you can take the hotel room next to ours and drill a hole in the wall, watch us make love, that work for you?”

Harry laughs and flips him off.

“ _Make love_ ,” Niall repeats with a snort. Louis swats him on the shoulder.

“Alright,” Liam says decisively, “enough about us, please, let’s get on with this paperwork.”

“So who made the first move?” Harry says, ignoring him completely.

“Please!” Louis exclaims. “You two are the absolute limit, today!”

Harry bowls right over this. "Does Zayn know?"

"No!"

Niall glances at Liam. "When you tell him, give Payno some advance warning, so he can leave the country."

"I'll handle him," Liam says defensively. "I'm not stupid, I saw that Daddy's Home movie. And Daddy's Home 2."

"What, lad?" Louis says, laughing.

"They were in-flight! Anyway, what I learned is, me and him have to have a dance-off."

"A dance-off," Harry repeats, his brow knit.

“Paperwork!” Liam starts tossing manila folders around like a madman.

“Alright,” Niall says, taking his pen back up with a smile. “Just leave ‘em be, ‘cos if I have to spend another hour in this room reading this tiny print, I'm gonna lose my mind. Also, I'm gonna reiterate what I said ages ago, which is that we should've started a union."

"But we're in a union, Niall," Louis says. "The AFM."

"No, a One Direction union."

"We sort of already operate as a union, don't we?" Harry says. "Negotiate for ourselves, got lists of demands... Louis is like, the union leader..."

"That's true, I am."

"Simon is the union buster," Liam adds.

"He looks like one, too," Niall says. "Louis, how's it been, staying with Syco? We sort of all worried about you."

"What," he exclaims. "What was he gonna do to me?"

"Turn you into a tiny Simon," Harry drawls.

"Very funny."

"No, seriously."

"It's been fine," Louis says. "I don't work with him one-on-one much, if ever. He's been supportive, though. He was nice to me after my --" He cuts himself off, sharply. None of them know about the miscarriage, not even Liam. Even now, it still feels like his private, personal business with Zayn. "After the divorce, I mean. Anyway, uh, Niall, I don't think you can have a union with five people in it."

"I'm looking it up," Niall says, picking up his phone. 

"As much as I love bullshitting with you boys, if we keep getting sidetracked, we're never going to finish all this before lunch," Liam says.

"I don't mind working through lunch," Harry says.

"I do. Me and Louis have reservations at two."

Harry grins. "Is it a da-ate?"

"Obviously," Louis says, sharing a little smile with Liam.

"Don't be snarky! Where at?"

"That place that just opened on Rodeo," Liam says. "Hadron. Abel got me a table."

Harry and Louis mouth _Abel_ at each other in fond mockery.

Liam laughs. "What'm I supposed to call him? My friend, Mr. The Weeknd?"

Louis winks at him. "Yeah, say that to the hostess."

"Don't have to say anything, _actually,_ 'cos she knows my face," Liam says playfully. "I'm a fancy society man, I frequent fancy establishments."

"I think Hadron has a dress code," Harry says. "I don't think sweatpants are in the dress code."

Louis looks at him in offense. "I'm obviously going to change before we get there, Harold!" 

"Wait, have you been there already?" Liam says to Harry.

Harry nods. "I was at the opening. I know the head chef."

"Shit, I really thought I finally had you beat on something." 

Harry pats his back consolingly. 

"You can make a union with two or more people," Niall cuts in, looking up. "Sorry. I got sucked in. This is actually really interesting. It's called a bargaining unit."

"Take Niall's phone off him before he gets that look in his eye like he's gonna dig up Thatcher just to kill her again," Louis says, and Niall laughs heartily. 

 

BEVERLY HILLS, AUGUST 2, 2021

Louis stumbles dizzily down the stairs, slipping on the hardwood landing and quickly righting himself, then hurries down the hall to the entryway to answer the buzzing gate box.

“Who is it?”

“It's me!” Liam’s tinny voice crackles over the intercom.

“Oh, shit. One sec!”

Louis buzzes him in, heaves the front door open and leans on it. He fights against his warm, heavy eyelids falling shut as he watches Liam park and then walk up the driveway to him, jingling his keys in his hand.

He looks clean-cut and cute, dressed down in jeans, a white tee and leather jacket.

“Hi,” Liam says, smiling as he stops in front of him. “Everything okay? Had me there buzzing for a bit.”

“Fuck,” Louis says, bringing his hand to his eyes. “We had a date, didn't we?”

Liam slips his hands into his pockets. “Yeah,” he says, with a light chuckle. “We did.”

“I'm sorry, I totally forgot… my back was killing me, so I took some muscle relaxants, and then Ingrid called and said she’s sick and can't come watch the kids, and the pills just started kicking in, so I'm like, over here barely keepin’ me eyes open --”

“It's alright,” Liam assures him, wrapping an arm around him and leading him inside. “Listen, I can watch the kids, you should get some sleep.”

“Really?” Louis says, with some hesitation. Watching each other’s kids is a big step, one they’ve been trying not to take.

“Tommo, you're dead on your feet. Go on upstairs and lie down, I've got it sorted.”

“I can just kip on the couch, down here,” he says. “Rest my eyes a mo.”

“Don't trust me?” Liam jokes. “I'm a half-competent babysitter, I swear.”

“Noo, that's not it. Just, leaving them alone with you -- I don't want them to think -- y’know?”

“Naw, I get it.”

“But if you're okay with it --”

“I'm very much okay with it.”

The kids are on the floor in the sitting room, playing one of their mystery detective video games on the big telly -- Louis doesn't mind when they spend hours in front of those, because he supposes they're at least working their brains.

Liam starts arranging pillows on the sofa, careful to not disturb Bo, who's napping at the foot of it. Louis watches him, yawning.

“Hi kiddos,” Liam says to Mia and Amir, pulling down the blanket and gesturing for Louis to lie down. He does, gratefully, pulling the blanket over himself.

“Hi Liam,” they chorus, and Mia turns to him.

“I have a question,” she says.

“I might have an answer,” Liam replies.

“Do elephants fart?”

Liam thoughtfully considers this, then nods.

“You're _sure_?” Mia says.

“Never seen one fart, but I’d bet good money that they do,” he says as he runs his fingers through Louis’ hair.

“Thanks, love,” Louis murmurs. He’s very warm, and perfectly content.

Liam winks at him, then goes and settles in an easy chair across from the couch. “So, what are we playing?”

“Professor Layton,” Amir chirps.

“We’re solving a mystery,” Mia says. “This old lady disappeared, and her parrot knows what happened, but we can't find the stupid parrot.”

“Don't call stuff stupid,” Louis half slurs, half mumbles.

“Is Daddy okay?” Amir says, turning and squinting at him.

“He's fine, he just needs a nap,” Liam assures him.

“Liam poisoned him,” Mia stage whispers. “That's our next mystery.”

Liam laughs heartily at this.

“Daddy?” Amir says anxiously.

“He didn’ poison me, babe… your sister’s bein’ a little shit…”

“I am NOT!”

Liam pokes his tongue between his teeth, grinning, his shoulders shaking with chuckles. “Never a dull moment around here,” he says to Louis.

“Mmm,” Louis groans, lolling his head over on the pillow.

“So what do we need to do to find this parrot?” Liam says, and Mia launches into a detailed recap of the story so far as Louis drifts off to sleep.

 

*

 

When he wakes, the sun has gone down. His mouth is dry, but his pain is gone. Louis sits up, yawning and stretching, and follows the sound of voices into the kitchen.

Liam is sautéing something on the stove as the kids sit across from him at the island, bickering at each other in their quotidian, good-natured way.

He glances up at Louis and smiles. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Hi,” Louis says, his voice scratchy. He rubs at his eyes. “What're you making?”

“Asparagus!”

“Really? ‘Cos these two hate asparagus.”

“Not mine!” Liam exclaims, tossing a bit of salt in the pan. “I overcook it ‘til it's soft, make it with lots of butter and bacon. Bit of lime zest, as well. They already tried it.”

“It's good,” Mia declares. “We like it.”

Louis shuffles over in his sock feet and tousles the kids’ hair. “ _Real_ -ly? I'm impressed, Payno. This crew usually goes in for dinosaur nuggets.”

Liam shoots him a grin. “You want some?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

Amir snuggles up to Louis, burying his warm little face against his ribs.

Louis strokes his dark hair. “What's up?”

“Nothing,” he chirps. “I love you, Daddy.”

Louis’ heart clenches, and he cradles the back of his dark little head. “Can you do me a favor and never grow up?” he asks him.

“Okay,” he says cheerfully.

“Good boy,” Louis murmurs. “So, you guys find out who done in the old lady?”

“She faked the whole thing,” Mia says dismissively. “It was stupid.”

“Mims.”

“What? I don't know what to say besides stupid!”

“It was _derivative_ ,” Liam says, lifting the pan and shaking the asparagus around. “Um… Unimaginative?”

“Better,” Louis says.

“I agree with her, by the way,” he adds. “Saw that twist coming a mile away.”

Mia sticks her tongue out at Louis. He snorts and tousles her hair some more.

 

*

 

They cuddle on the couch after Louis puts the kids to bed; Louis mutes the basketball game they're watching to say, “Sorry we didn't get our date,” and Liam laughs and says, “This was a perfectly nice date, Tommo.”

“In that case, sorry you had to babysit my kids.”

Liam shifts his arm so it's more securely wrapped around him, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “No problem. I had fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! They're fun. Like I said, they remind me of both of you. It's nice. Takes me back.”

Louis struggles to form a response to this.

“I didn't mean that in a sad way,” he adds.

“No, I know.” Louis snuggles against him, pressing his face against his sturdy chest and inhaling the crisp smell of his cologne.

“How’d you hurt your back, anyway?”

“Had a pickup football game, the grass was wet and I took a bad hit. Really dumb.”

“So it wasn't me?” Liam says, laughing.

“You? What, from the other day?”

“Remember you texted me the next day I blew your back out? Thought maybe I actually did, y’know, blow your back out…”

“I think I've let your ego get a bit too big, lad.”

“Come on… that was good work I was putting in on you!”

“Yeah, but not good enough to wreck my back!”

Liam makes a pouty noise, and Louis blows a raspberry against his chest, making him giggle.

“What I meant, earlier, is I just didn't, like…” Louis trails off. “You and the kids -- I don't want to rush any of it.”

“I know, I know, but I think it went alright,” Liam murmurs. “I just sort of hung out with them. More like a pal than, like...”

“A stepdad?”

“I was trying to dance around that, but yeah.”

Louis is quiet for a while.

“I just don't want them to resent you at all,” he says. "Or think I'm trying to replace Zayn with you."

“Ohh,” Liam scoffs gently. “Don't worry about that. Look, I want them to like me, but I can't force it. In the end, they're entitled to feel however they want.”

“You're right. I know you are. I mean, that's how I feel about Sunday.”

“Good! I get what you mean, though. I want her to like you as much as I do.”

Louis lifts his head. “And how much is that?” he flirts.

“Oh, y’know,” Liam says airily. “Guess you're alright.”

“Uh-huh, sure…”

Liam kisses him deep on the mouth, lingering, dragging his teeth up over Louis’ bottom lip. “It scares me how much I like you,” he whispers roughly, his breath hot. “Like nothing’s changed… like we didn't miss a day…”

Louis shivers. “Me too,” he says, flicking his eyes up to meet Liam’s, and they kiss again, for a long time.

“Is there any chance I could stay the night?” Liam murmurs when they pull apart -- his lips flushed, his eyes bright. “I can leave early tomorrow, before they wake up, but when Ceci’s got her -- I dunno -- that big empty house is just…”

“Stay, stay,” Louis says throatily, cupping Liam’s face with his hand, stroking a thumb over his stubbly cheek. “Please stay, yeah.”

“I don't even mean for sex,” he whispers. “I just want to sleep next to you.”

“I mean, we can have sex, too, Payno.”

“Your back’s alright?”

“Back is feeling bloody brilliant.”

 

*

 

Louis wakes the next morning to Liam singing in the shower. Squinting against the morning sun, he grabs his phone off the table where it was wirelessly charging: 6:47 A.M. The kids’ll be up soon.

He lies there curled up in the warm sheets, enjoying Liam’s echoing voice and internally debating if he should have him stay for breakfast or not.

Liam comes out in a cloud of steam -- fully dressed, watch on his wrist, still humming whatever he was singing. He crawls across the bed and presses a kiss to Louis’ scratchy cheek. “I'm gonna head out, Tommo.”

“Wait, no,” Louis protests. “I was just thinking maybe you ought to stay…”

Liam gives him a small, emotionally complicated smile. “Look,” he says. “I don't want to confuse things, or overwhelm them, or rush them. So… let's put that off for a bit, okay?”

Louis nods. “Yeah,” he says, a bit reluctantly, and leans in to kiss him on the lips. “I’ll walk you out, though.”

They end up lingering in the kitchen, chatting, so Louis can send him on his way with a thermos of coffee, and then snogging a bit as the French press rattles in the background.

At the door, they part reluctantly.

“See you at the writing session,” Liam calls as he walks backwards down the long driveway.

“See you then, mate,” Louis calls after him with a smile.

“Hey, I wrote some lyrics about you,” Liam yells, shading his eyes with his hand.

Louis’ heart skips a beat. “What are they?”

“You'll just have to wait and see!”

“Oh, you absolute bastard…”

Liam blows him a kiss, laughing, as he climbs into his car.

 

DUBLIN, FEBRUARY 5, 2022

Backstage, everyone is in a tizzy -- Niall is convinced his knee is acting up again, and he's pacing around in circles, his face dour, muttering to himself. Their backing band is panicky -- John is convinced his bass is out of tune, although nobody else can hear it. And security is antsy because they had three barricade jumpers during the opener alone.

Louis is chilling out in a corner, bouncing around from nervous energy. He looks up when he hears a door creak open -- it's Liam, slinking in from the doorway to the hall, out into the shadows cast by the staircase. Louis studies him in the dim light. He looks distracted, and a bit peaky.

“Hey,” he says to them. “Harry’ll be along in a minute. Alright, Niall?”

“Knee.” Niall says it like it's a swear word.

“Sorry, mate,” Liam says, clapping him on the back. “Take it easy tonight.”

“I can't even tell if it's actin’ up, or I'm just paranoid.”

“Go with your instincts,” Louis tells him.

“Too nervous to trust ‘em,” Niall says.

“Me too,” Liam admits. “I feel like we're gonna go out there and be walking into each other and things. What if there's awkward pauses?”

“Fuck, I didn't even think o’ that.”

“Boys, we didn't forget how to talk to each other, I promise,” Louis says. “Anyway, it's a concert, not a stand-up special. I'm more worried about the singles. Have we got a cohesive sound, anymore? Like, there's just three of them and we’re already jumping genres so much..."

They found, when they sat down to write, that over the years they'd each been writing songs with the band in mind, and filing them away. This made for a very heartwarming, go-team-go moment, and it meant they had material right out of the gate. But until they started recording them, they hadn't realized just how far they'd strayed from each other, sonically.

“You know who else jumps genres?” booms a deep voice from the top of the staircase, and they all look up and see Harry descending grandly, in tight oxblood leather pants, boots, and a patterned button-down with the sleeves rolled up. He waits until he gets to the bottom to primly deliver, “Beyoncé, that's who.”

“Hi,” Louis says in amusement. “So you're feeling better, then?”

“I’ve meditated, and I feel great,” Harry says. “I'm in touch with the universe, and myself, and all of you lovely people.”

“Back at you, Harry,” John calls, and Harry blows him a kiss. The two of them have been flirting all week.

Liam is fidgeting, with a distracted look on his face. Louis goes over to him. “Payno, you’re bleeding,” he murmurs, flicking his thumb over a small cut on his neck.

“Nicked myself shaving,” he says. “Nerves, I think.”

“I'll kiss it better.”

He presses his lips to Liam’s prickly, aftershave-soaked neck. Liam laughs and takes Louis’ face in his hands, tipping his head up so he can kiss him on the lips.

“Sickening,” Harry says, chuckling and shaking his head as he stretches his hamstrings on the stairs. “Why can't you two have gross dirty sex back here or something? It's all butterfly kisses and holding hands.”

Niall snorts. "You only think that 'cos you didn't have to share a wall with 'em last night."

Liam laughs sheepishly, and embarrassment heats Louis' face. 

"Cheers!" he says. 

Niall stops pacing and grins at him. "I'm the one who had t' listen to it! I was trying to watch a movie! Had to put headphones in!"

"It was that bad?" Harry says, laughing.

"It was not!" Louis exclaims.

"Oh, Tommooo," Niall intones. "You really don't know how loud you get, do you?"

"I'm not _that_ loud!"

"You were pounding on my wall, I half-thought somebody was in there murderin' you."

Harry props his other hamstring up and leans over in a ballerina stretch, shaking with silent laughter. 

"Nice," John calls over to them, and Louis gives him the finger.

"Niall," Liam says, in a gruff, parental tone.

Niall puts his hands up. "Just give a man a courtesy text, first, that's all."

Louis can't help laughing. "Like you weren't in there having a wank over it."

"Oh, yeah," Niall says with a wink. "Nothing gets me off like hearing you tell Payno how big his --"

"Nope!" Liam barks. "Nope. No. That's my personal limit."

"Like we haven't all seen your dick, Liam," Harry drawls.

"Not stiff, you haven't, and I'd really love to keep that one last shred of dignity if I can."

Niall seems to be tuning this out as he paces in another little circle, leaning hard on his knee.

“I’ve decided,” he announces, then. “I'm fine. It's all in me head.”

“Wait, don't say that, you'll jinx it,” Liam says.

Louis goes over and raps his knuckles on a wooden box that's holding up an amp. They've all gotten antsy and stupidly superstitious in the lead-up to this first show. Earlier on the phone, Mia, Amir and Zayn took turns shouting “Good luck!” at him, and Louis was yelling over top of them, “Wait, wait, no, tell me to break a leg! Say ‘break a leg’!”

And he and Liam were bickering all through rehearsals yesterday. It was over stupid shit, just them taking their anxieties and guilt over being away from their kids out on each other. They’ve both been worried, too, that someone on the tour with them is going to let slip to the public about their relationship. They’re trying to be discreet, but they do sleep in the same bed every night, and even before Niall's playful jibing just now, it's been feeling like it's only a matter of time.

They’d made nice after Harry came over to them, slinging his arms over their shoulders and saying in a mock-tearful voice, “Y’know we hate it when you fight, Mum and Dad,” which made them laugh.

“Five,” shouts Jeanie, their tour manager, as she strides into the room and adjusts her headset. “Five minutes, everyone!”

They can hear the crowd growing restless. It's a smaller venue than they're used to playing as a band, and sound doesn't dissipate like it does in an open-air stadium. Louis feels a sort of claustrophobic nausea coming on.

“Why am I so sweaty?” Liam says, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Jitters,” Niall says.

“I haven't had jitters this bad in ages.”

“We need a pep talk,” Louis says decisively, and waves them all in so they can get into their usual huddle. He wraps his arms around Harry and Liam’s shoulders, rising onto his tiptoes a bit. “C’mon, lads. We’ve got this. We’re the shit. They’re dying to see us. Who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks? All that’s ever mattered is the girls out there.”

“And boys,” Harry puts in.

“And the boys. They grew up with us, they get it. They don't know what to expect either. We’ll all work it out together.”

He's saying all this as much to himself as he is to them, but it seems to be working.

“And,” Niall says, “we’re all actual adults now, we’re much more confident, and way less stupid.”

“Yeah! ‘Sactly. Liam was in a bridge league with his ex-wife, what's more adult than that?”

“Yeah!” Niall cheers. “Liam pays alimony! That don’t even sound like a real word!”

“It really doesn't,” Liam admits.

Harry laughs gaily at this.

“Alright, let's do hands in,” Liam says. “What’s the chant?”

“Ooh, I've got one,” Harry says, and puts his hand in. “Harder.”

“Better,” Niall says, putting his in.

“Faster,” adds Liam.

“Stronger,” Louis finishes, grinning, and slaps his hand over Liam’s.


End file.
